


Cuts

by Fangirl_1994



Series: Cuts [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cutting, F/M, Friendship, Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-03-07 12:38:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 44
Words: 151,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3173974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirl_1994/pseuds/Fangirl_1994
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.<br/>I own nothing, except Calliah and my ideas.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.  
> I own nothing, except Calliah and my ideas.

_“Calliah, your sister is requesting your presents in her room.” I hear my sister’s maid, Kate, tell me as she comes in my room._

_I turn and look at her. “Thank you Kate. I will be there soon.” I smile and put my book mark in my book. I hear Kate leave as I get up to turn off my music. I turn my music off and stretch. I had been sitting still for an hour now and was sore. I put on my dressing gown and slippers and walked the long distance to my sister’s room. Our house has been in our family for years and ever since our parents passed away ten years ago, Irene and I have been living alone in it. I have a small room in the front of the building and my sister had the rest of the house. I don’t need a lot of room and my sister’s…. activities requires a lot of room. I finally get to my sister’s bed room and knock on the door. “Irene it’s me.”_

_“Come in Calliah.” I hear. I walk into the room and see my sister at her vanity getting ready for the day. I see her in one of her dominatrix outfits so I know I won’t be able to stay in the house for long. “I need you gone in ten minutes.”_

_I sigh. “It is my house too.” I tell her even though I know she doesn’t care and won’t change her plans for me._

_“I need you out of the house in ten minutes Calliah. If you don’t I won’t give you your allowance.” She says and looks at me with her mirror._

_She was the beauty of our family and everyone knew it. My name might mean beautiful but I did not become beautiful. My sister has the dark, lush brown hair that flows to the middle of her back. She has the deep brown eyes that you can get lost in and the bone structure that will get your way every time. I, unfortunately, got the curly red hair that landed by my bum, the blue eyes that were average, and the pudgy fat. No one ever believed that we were sisters and I understood why they thought that. I got the Irish looks from our mother’s side and she got the Greek looks from our father’s side. She got the looks, brain, and everything good in the family. I have been told this ever since I remember._

_“Fine Irene, I will get out of your way this time. Next time I won’t. I have school that I have to do here.” I explain._

_“I don’t know why you even bother Calliah. Everyone knows you won’t make it in the medical field and you will never amount to anything.” She tells me and smirks._

_“Y-Yes I will. I will get my license I will become the best doctor in the city. Just you wait.” I say and stand up straight. I always felt unworthy in my sister’s presents and never stood straight._

_Irene laughs and gets up. She walks to me and towers over me. “Calliah, you are the stupidest, ugliest, and fattest person I have ever seen. There is no way you will get into medical school and no way they will let you be a doctor. You have to be good looking and smart to get a degree. Now get out of my sight and don’t come back tonight.” She smirks down at me._

_I tear up and rush out of her room. I run to my room and grab my overnight bag, my book, and I-pod. I rush out of the house and look around. I have nowhere to go. Irene usually gives me a couple of days warning so I can get a place to stay. I wipe my eyes and start heading to the library. At least I can get some homework done and maybe get some extra homework out of the way. I keep my head down as I walk. No one deserves to look my face as they walk to work, store, school, or wherever they are heading. My father and sister taught me to walk with my head down when I began walking. I never understood till my father’s mother explained that I was hideous and no one deserved to see me._

_I finally get to the library and go in. I walk to the counter and tell the person at the counter that I would like to barrow a computer and then my name. “Beautiful.” He says._

_“What?” I look at him weird. Was he saying that I was beautiful?_

_“Your name means beautiful.” He says and looks up. He was handsome. He had curly black hair and steel blue eyes that looked into my soul. “Too bad your looks don’t agree.” He frowns._

* * *

 I open my eyes and sit up in my bed. I look around, gasping for air. I see that I am in my flat and sigh. I bring my knees to my chest and try to calm my breathing. That day was the worst day of my life. That was the day I moved out of Irene’s house, my first night I slept on the street, and discovered cutting. I never looked back. I finished school, got a degree in registrar, and started working at St. Bart’s hospital as a specialist registrar in the morgue. I made a friend there named Molly, got a decent flat in outer London, and got on a diet. I am still fat, but not I try not to think about it. I still cut, but only because it helps take the pain away.

I looked at the time and saw that it was only 5 a.m. I still had an hour till I had to get up. I lay back into bed and close my eyes. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep but I didn’t feel like getting up. I look around my room and sigh. My flat was falling apart. I knew I would need to move soon. I couldn’t stay in one place for too long. I look up at my ceiling and think about my sister. I hadn’t seen her since the day I moved out. We never got along but ever since our parents died, she became even crueler and separated herself from me. I felt hurt and ashamed of myself. I felt like I did something wrong and it was all my fault. Maybe if I was prettier or smarter I would be able to get her to like me. Sometimes I thought about going over to her house and make her talk to me, but every time I tried, I would chicken out before I got to her street.

At 6 my phone alarm went off and I groined. I didn’t want to get up or go to work, but Molly would be worried if I didn’t. I sigh and sit up. I shake my head and try to remove all the thoughts of my sister, that day, and the negative thoughts out of my head. It never worked but I could try. I get up and put on my black pants, a blue blouse, and black flats on. I throw my hair up in a bun and put my glasses on. I go to the kitchen and grab a banana like I do every morning. Of course I never eat it, but I have to at least show up with it or Molly will assume that I didn’t eat and take me to the cafeteria. I get my coat, gloves and scarf on and grab my phone and purse. I leave my house and take the tube to St. Barts like I do every day. It is a continuous loop. I get up, go to work, Molly and I go for one drink after work, I go home, I watch tv, then I go to bed. It is the same every day and a boring loop.

I would always wish for something to change in my life, but how wrong I was.


	2. Chapter 2

I get to work and clock in. I go to the morgue and see Molly. “Molly. Hey.” I rush over to her.

            “Hey Calliah. How was your night?” She asks with a smile on her face.

            “It was good. I watched Doctor Who like usual.” I say and laugh. She joins in. She knows that I don’t do anything.

            We walk to a room and I see a man standing on the table with a riding crop. He was beating one of the corpses. I open my mouth in shock and hear Molly laugh. I look over at her and see that she isn’t shocked. “That is Sherlock Holmes. He comes in some times to do some experiments. I let her because it is interesting.” Molly explains. I look at her confused and then look at the man. “Hello Sherlock.” Molly says as she walks into the room. I follow behind her and keep looking at the man. He doesn’t pay us any attention. I look at Molly and she smiles at me. “Come on Calliah. We have work to do.” She leads me out of the room. I look back at the strange but fascinating man beating the corpse.

            After getting some work done, Molly and I go into the room as the man is finishing up. “So bad day, was it?” Molly says to Sherlock jokingly.

            He ignores her and gets out a notebook and starts writing in it. “I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man’s alibi depends on it. Text me.”

            She nods. “Listen, I was wondering, maybe later, when you’re finished..”

            Sherlock looks at her as he writes and then does a double-take and frowns. “Are you wearing lipstick? You weren’t wearing lipstick before.” I look at her. When did she put that on?

            Molly gets nervous. “I, er, I refreshed it a bit.” She smiles flirtatiously at him. I cough to hide a laugh. Molly glares at me before looking back at Sherlock.

            He is looking at her and then goes back to writing in his notebook. “Sorry, you were saying?”

            “I was wondering if you’d like to have coffee?” Molly asks as she gazes at him intently.

            “Black, two sugars, please. I’ll be upstairs.” He says and walks out of the room.

            Molly stares at him and slowly says “Okay.”

            I look at her and bust up laughing. I had never seen her act like this before. “Molly what was that?”   
            She looks at me and frowns. “He… I… I don’t know. Sherlock makes me freeze up and act like an idiot. I can’t face him. Can you get the coffee and bring it to him?”

            I sigh. “Sure Molls.” I go to the break room and get the coffee and fix it up the way he said to. I go upstairs and go into one of the labs. I notice two more men with him. I look down and bring Sherlock his mug of coffee.

            Sherlock looks at me. “You aren’t Molly.”

            “No I am Calliah. Molly was busy so I told her I would bring it up.” I say softly and start to walk away.

            “Beautiful.” I hear Sherlock say behind me. I stop and turn around. “Only if your looks copied your name.”

            My eyes widen. “You worked in the library two years ago didn’t you?”

            He shrugs. “Sometimes I would fill in.”

            “You said that same thing two years ago to me when I came into the library.” I told him.

            He looks at me. “Did I? Hm.” He says and looks back at the men. “How do you feel about the violin?” I close my eyes and start walking back to the door. I see one of the men looking at me. I look over and he smiles softly, apologetic. “Don’t go Calliah. I was talking to you and Mr. Watson.” I stop and look at Sherlock.

            “I’m sorry?” I ask shocked.

            “I’m sorry, what?” one of the men say who I am assuming is John.

            “I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end.” He looks at John and then me. “Would that bother either one of you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.” He says and throws a false smile at John and I. I look at John and John looks at the other man.

            “You told him about me?” John asks the other man.

            “Not a word.” The man replys.

            John looks at Sherlock as I do. “Who said anything about flatmates?” I ask.

            Sherlock picks up his coat and puts it on. “I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn’t that difficult a leap.” He turns to me. “I heard you talking to Molly about needing to move out of your flat and how you want to move closer to work but couldn’t afford a flat by yourself.”

            “How did you know about Afghanistan?” John asked.

            Sherlock ignores him and wraps a scarf around his neck. He picks up his mobile and checks it. “Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it.” He looks at us and walks towards up. “We’ll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o’clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.”

            “You did.” I say as Sherlock walks past us.

            “Is that it?” John turns and asks Sherlock.

            Sherlock was at the door and looks back. He comes a little closer to John. “Is that what?”

            “We’ve only just met and we’re gonna go and look at a flat?” John asks.

            “Problem?” Sherlock asks. I shake my head no.

            John smiles at Sherlock in disbelief, and looks to the other man for help. I look at him. The shakes his head and smiles. John and I turn back to look at Sherlock. “We don’t know a thing about each other; I don’t know where we’re meeting; I just met this woman; I don’t know either one of your names.”

            Shrelock and I look at John. Sherlock looks a little more closely, like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “I know you’re an Army doctor and you’ve been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you’ve got a brother who’s worried about you but you won’t go to him for help because you don’t approve of him – possibly because he’s an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp’s psychosomatic – quite correctly, I’m afraid.” Sherlock say smugly. John looks at his leg and cane and shuffles his feet awkwardly. Sherlock looks at me. “You have been put down most of your life and have given up on yourself. You don’t leave your flat except to shop for food, work, and to go on your drink after work with Molly. You have a sister that can’t stand you and you don’t care for her.” I look down. He got everything right. I don’t know how, but he did. “That’s enough to be going on with, don’t you think?” He asks smugly. He turns and walks to the door. He opens it and goes through. He leans back into the room. “The name’s Sherlock Holmes and the address is two two one b Baker Street.” He winks and looks at the other man in the room. “Afternoon.” The man raises a finger in farewell as Sherlock disappears from the room.

            As the door slams shut, John turns and looks at me and the other man. The man smiles and nods to John. “Yeah. He’s always like that.” The man gets up and goes to the door. “John it was nice seeing you again. Come by any time you want.” He nods to me and leaves.

            John turns to me and I look down. “What is your name?” He asks me.

            “Calliah Mullen.” I say softly. I really just want to get back up to Molly and talk this out. I don’t know what happened and she helps me understand things better.

            “Well I am John Watson. I guess we might be flatmates.” He says and smiles.

            I nod. “I should get back to work. Sorry.” I say and rush out of the room.

            I run to the mortuary and look for Molly. “Molly?” I call out. I leave the room and start going to a different room. As I am about to go in, Sherlock comes out. “Sorry.” I say softly.

            He nods. “Yeah. Are you coming tomorrow?” I shrug. I really didn’t know. I mean moving in with two strange men. My mother would roll over in her grave. My sister would laugh. “Afternoon.” He says and leaves.

I go in the room and see Molly. I notice that she took off the lipstick. “You took off the lipstick.”

“Yeah, wasn’t working for me.” She says and smiles softly.

“Really? I thought it looked good. Your lips are a little too small now.” I say and go get my clipboard.

“You know Sherlock just came and said the same thing.” She says and laugh. I join in her laugh.

“Speaking of Sherlock, I have some news.” I smile at her.


	3. Chapter 3

Calliah and Molly head off to the bar after work. “Okay Calliah. You said you would tell me what happened after work. It is after work.” Molly says as they sit down with their drinks.

            I sigh and take a sip. “I am moving in with Sherlock and this other guy.” Molly goes to say something, but I hold my hand up. I knew I needed to get it all out or I wouldn’t finish. “I go into the lab and Sherlock is with two other men. I go in and hand Sherlock his coffee and go to leave. He stops me and starts asking if the violin would bother me or one of the men, who I found out is John. John asked why does it matter and Sherlock said that flatmates should know the worst about each other and then he started to leave. John asked him who said anything about flatmates and Sherlock said I did. John complained that he didn’t know who we were or where we were meeting. Sherlock told John some of his life and then he told me some of mine. He got everything right. I don’t know how he did it but he did. Sherlock continued and told him his name and the flat number and left. John looked at me and asked me my name and then if I was going to go and then I left after telling him.” I finish.

            Molly looks at me. “Yeah. He deduces people all the time. He did it to me the first time we met. Are you going to move in?”

            I sigh. “I don’t know. I need the place. I can’t keep living in my flat.”

            She nods and chugs her drink. I do the same and sigh. “I need to get home.”

            “Okay. I will be here. If you need me, call me.” Molly says and orders another drink.

            I nod and pay for my one drink and leave. I know Molly was mad. She liked Sherlock and I was going to be living with her crush. I knew she was worried that I would fall for him, but after finding out that Sherlock was the boy in the library, there was no chance in hell I would fall for or even like Sherlock. I get to my house and lay on my bed. Would I move in with the boys? I could at least check it out after work. I fall asleep thinking about the day.

            I get up the next day is just like usual, get up, get dressed, grab a banana, and go to work. After work, I said goodbye to Molly and started walking to 221B Baker Street. I see John knocking on the door as Sherlock gets out of a cab. I run up so I can hear what they are talking about. “Hello.” I hear Sherlock say. He reaches in and pays the cab driver. “Thank you.” He turns back to us.

            John turns and walks over to him. I stay back. “Ah, Mr. Holmes.”

            “Sherlock, please.” Sherlock says and they shake hands. He turns to me. “Miss. Mullen.”

            I nod at them and wrap my arms around myself.

            John looks up at the building. “Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive.” I nod in agreement.

            “Oh, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she’s giving me a special deal. Owes me a favour. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out.” Sherlock explains.

            “Sorry, you stopped her husband being executed?” John asked.

            “Oh no. I ensured it.” Sherlock said smugly. He smiles at John as the front door opens. An older woman comes out and opens her arms to Sherlock.

            “Sherlock, hello.” The woman says.

Sherlock walks into her arms, hugging her briefly, then steps back and presents John and me to her. “Mrs. Hudson, Doctor John Watson and Miss Calliah Mullen.”

“Hello.” Mrs. Hudson says to us.

“How do?” John asks.

I wave my hand a little without unfolding my arms.

Mrs. Hudson gestures us inside. “Come in.”

“Thank you.” John says.

“Shall we?” Sherlock asks.

“Yeah.” Mrs. Hudson says.

We all go inside and Mrs. Hudson closes the door. Sherlock trots up the stairs to the first floor and waits for us. I let John go before me. He hobbles up the stairs and I follow. As we reach the top of the stairs, Sherlock opens the door ahead of us and walks in. We follow into the living room of the flat. We look around and see cluder all around and boxes scattered around it.

“Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed.” John says and looks at me. I nod. I still wasn’t comfortable with the two men.

“Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely.” He looks around happily.

“Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out…” John says as Sherlock says “So I went straight ahead and moved in.” “Oh.” John says and he realizes what Sherlock was saying. I bust up laughing. John looks at me. “So this is all…”

“Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit.” Sherlock says and walks across the room. He makes a half-hearted attempt to tidy up a little. He throw a couple of folders into a box and then takes some apparent unopened envelopes across to the fireplace where he put them onto the mantelpiece and then stabs a multi tool knife into them.

“That’s a skull.” John says. I look over and see he is pointing his cane at the mantelpiece.

“Friend of mine. When I say ‘friend’…” Sherlock says and shrugs.

Mrs. Hudson picks up a cup and saucer as Sherlock takes off his coat and scarf. “What do you think, then, Doctor Watson and Miss Mullen? There’s another bedroom upstairs and one down here if you’ll be needing three bedrooms.” Mrs. Hudson says looking at John and I and then Sherlock. I laugh. She thought John was gay.

“Of course we’ll be needing three.” John says and frowns. “Unless Sherlock and Calliah want to share.”

“No!” I yell out. All three of them turn and look at me. I blush and look down. “Um no. We will want the three.” I say softly.

“Oh don’t worry; there’s all sorts around here.” She tells John and places a hand on my arm. “Mrs. Turner next door’s got married ones.” She continues in a whisper. John looks at Sherlock to see if he would say anything but Sherlock appears oblivious to what is being insinuated. I cover my laugh with a cough and look around. I look back to see Mrs. Hudson walking across to the kitchen. She turns back and frowns at Sherlock. “Oh Sherlock. The mess you’ve made.” She goes into the kitchen and starts tidying up.

John walks to one of the two armchairs and drops into it. He looks across to Sherlock who is tidying up a little. “I looked you up on the internet last night.”

Sherlock turns to him. “Anything interesting?”

“Found your website, The Science of Deduction.” John says.

I go and sit down on the couch. Sherlock smiles at John. “What did you think?”

John throws him a ‘you have got to be kidding me’ type of look. Sherlock looks hurt. “You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb.”

“Yes; and I can read you military career in your face and your leg, and your brother’s drinking habits in you mobile phone. I can tell that Miss Mullen is depressed by the way she holds herself and her clothes.” Sherlock says and looks at us both.

“How?” John asks the question I was thinking.

Sherlock smiles and turns away. Mrs. Hudson comes out of the kitchen, holding a newspaper. “What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that’d be right up you street. Three exactly the same.”

Sherlock walks over to the window of the living room. “Four.”

“A fourth?” Mrs. Hudson asks.

A man comes in the room and looks at Sherlock. “Where?” Sherlock asks.

“Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.” The man tells him.

“What’s new about this one? You wouldn’t have come to get me if there wasn’t something different.” Sherlock says.

“You know how they never leave notes?” The man asks.

“Yeah.” Sherlock says and looks at me. I look down and play with my fingers.

“This one did. Will you come?” The man asks.

“Who’s on forensics?” Sherlock asks.

“It’s Anderson.” The man says.

I look up and see that Sherlock is looking back at the man and grimace. “Anderson won’t work with me.”

“Well, he won’t be you assistant.” The man says. I look at the man. He is average height and weight. Looks around to be 40 or late 30’s. He has salt and pepper hair. He looked stressed.

“I need an assistant.” Sherlock says like he was whining.

“Will you come?” The man asks.

“Not in a police car. I’ll be right behind.” Sherlock say and looks back at the window.

“Thank you.” The man says and then looks at John, Mrs. Hudson, and then me. He smiles and leaves.

Sherlock waits a little and then leaps into the air and clenches his fists triumphantly before twirling around the room happily. I laugh at how he looked. He winks at me and looks around. “Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it’s Christmas!” He picks up his scarf and coat and puts them on as he heads for the kitchen. “Mrs. Hudson, I’ll be late. Might need some food.”

“I’m your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper.” Mrs. Hudson says and smiles.

“Something cold will do. John, Calliah, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don’t wait up!” He grabs a small leather pouch from the table and leaves.

“Look at him, dashing about! My husband was just the same.” Mrs. Hudson says. I look at John and see him grimaces at what Mrs. Hudson was implying. I laugh. “But you two are more the sitting-down type, I can tell.” John and I look uncomfortable. I knew that I was the sitting down type but I didn’t need Mrs. Hudson reminding me. “I’ll make you two that cuppa. You rest your leg Doctor Watson.”

“Damn my leg!” He yells. I screech and jump. He is immediately apologetic as Mrs. Hudson turns back to him in shock. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s just sometimes this bloody thing..” He bashes his leg with his cane. I look down and try to make myself smaller.

“I understand, dear; I’ve got a hip.” Mrs. Hudson says and turns towards the door again.

“Cup of tea’d be lovely, thank you.” John says and smiles softly at me. I look up and smile softly back.

“Just this once, dears. I’m not your housekeeper.” Mrs. Hudson says and goes down to her flat.

“Couple of biscuits too, if you’ve got ‘em.” John calls down the stairs.

“Not your housekeeper!” Mrs. Hudson says.

John picks up the newspaper and starts reading. Sherlock comes back in and looks at John. “You’re a doctor. In fact you’re an Army doctor.” He says to John.

“Yes.” John says and gets up. He turns towards Sherlock as Sherlock comes back into the room.

“Any good?” Sherlock asks.

“Very good.” John says.

“Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths.” Sherlock says.

“Mmm, yes.” John continues.

“Bit of trouble too, I bet.” Sherlock says.

“Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much.” John says softly.

“Wanna see some more?” Sherlock asks and smiles.

“Oh God, yes.” John says fervently. Sherlock turns around and looks at me. He grabs my hand and leads me out of the room and down the stairs. “Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, We’ll skip the tea. Off out.” I hear John call out to Mrs. Hudson. I frown.

“I don’t want to go!” I call out and try to get out of Sherlock’s grasp.

Mrs. Hudson comes out. “All three of you?”

“Impossible suicides? Four of them? There’s no point sitting at home when there’s finally something fun going on!” Sherlock says and kisses Mrs. Hudson on the cheek.

She laughs and smiles. “Look at you, all happy. It’s not decent.” She says.

Sherlock turns to her. “Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!” He turns and walk out, still dragging me behind him.   



	4. Chapter 4

“Taxi!” Sherlock yells. A taxt pulls up alongside and Sherlock gets in. I stand in the door way.

            “I’m not going.” I say and start backing up. I bump into John. “S-Sorry.”

            “Calliah. Get into this taxi right now.” Sherlock says.

            “I would just do it. Saves time.” John says softly.

            I roll my eyes and get in. John follows in and Sherlock gives the driver the address. Sherlock gets out his phone and plays with it. I cross my arms and look forward. “I hate you.” I tell him. He nods and keeps playing with his phone. John keeps looking at us, but mostly Sherlock. After a while Sherlock puts down his phone. “Okay, you’ve got questions.”

            “Yeah, where are we going?” John asks.

            “Crime scene.” I say. John and Sherlock look at me questionably. “What? It is obvious.” I don’t look at them.

            “Okay… Who are you? What do you do?” John asks.

            “What do you think?” Sherlock asks and smiles.

            “I’d say private detective…” John says slowly and hesitantly.

            “But?” Sherlock says to continue him on.

            “…but the police don’t go to private detectives.” John finishes.

            “I’m a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job.” Sherlock says proud. I laugh. Sherlock looks at me. “What?”

            “A consulting detective.” I laugh again. “ _Only one in the world. I invented the job._ ” I mock him. “You are so arrogant.”

            “Well at least I like myself.” He says and crosses his arms. I roll my eyes.

            “So what does a consulting detective do?” John says slowly, trying to get rid of the tension.

            “When the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me.” Sherlock says.

            “The police don’t consult amateurs.” John says.

            Sherlock throws him a look and I start laughing. “When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, “Afghanistan or Iraq?” You looked surprised.” Sherlock says.

            “Yes, how did you know?” John asks. I look up at Sherlock. I was wondering how he knew all the things he did.

            “I didn’t know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart’s, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You’ve been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp’s really bad when you walk but you don’t ask for a chair when you stand, like you’ve forgotten about it, so it’s at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq.” Sherlock says and looks at me. “You were easy. Your clothes gave away that you have given up on yourself. You wear baggy clothes and didn’t care about the spot on your outfit yesterday. I know about your sister from Molly. That isn’t cheating, that is listening.” He finishes and turns to the front.

            “You said I had a therapist.” John says slowly.

            “You’ve got a psychosomatic limp – of course you’ve got a therapist. Then there’s your brother.” Sherlock says.

            “Hmmm?” John asks.

            Sherlock holds out his hand. “Your phone.” John gives his phone to him. “It’s expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you’re looking for a flatshare – you wouldn’t waste money on this. It’s a gift, then.” Sherlock turns the phone over and looks at it. “Scratches. Not one, many over time. It’s been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn’t treat his one luxury item like this, so it’s had a previous owner. Next bit’s easy. You know it already.”

            “The engraving.” John says.

            I look over at the phone and see:

_Harry Watson_

_From Clara_

_Xxx_

“Harry Watson: clearly a family member who’s given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man’s gadget. Could be a cousin, but you’re a war hero who can’t find a place to live. Unlikely you’ve got an extended family, certainly not one you’re close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who’s Clara? Three kisses says it’s a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model’s only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he’s just given it away. If she’d left him, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You’re looking for cheap accommodation, but you’re not going to your brother for help: that says you’ve got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don’t like his drinking.” Sherlock says.

            “How can you possibly know about the drinking?” John asks.

            Sherlock smiles. “Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man’s phone; never see a drunk’s without them.” He finished and hands the phone back. “There you go, you see – you were right.”   
            “I was right? Right about what?” John asks.

            “The police don’t consult amateurs.” Sherlock says and looks out the window. I notice that he is biting his lip nervously. Was he worried about what John would say? I knew he didn’t care what I had to say.

            “That… was amazing.” John breathed out.

            Sherlock looks back at John. He looked like he was surprised. He sits there blinking. “Do you think so?” Sherlock asks softly.

            “Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary.” John says and smiles.

            He looks at me. “What do you think about it?”

            I look up at him surprised. “Me? You care about what I have to say?” He nods. So he isn’t always a prick. “It was amazing like John said.”

            He smiles. “That’s not what people normally say.” Sherlock says.

            “What do people normally say?” I ask softly.

            “’Piss off’” He says and smiles briefly at John and then smiles at me. I laugh and look ahead.

 

            The car gets to Lauriston Gardens and Sherlock gets out. I go to get out on John’s side and he holds out his hand. I look at it. “What are you doing?” I ask.

            “Trying to help you out.” John says slowly.

            I blush. No one has ever tried to help me in any way. I take his hand and he helps me out of the taxi. “Thank you.” I go to the back of the taxi where Sherlock is waiting. We start walking to the crime scene.

            “Did I get anything wrong?” Sherlock asks.

            “Harry and me don’t get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they’re getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker.” John says.

            “Spot on, then. I didn’t expect to be right about everything.” Sherlock says and looks impressed with himself.

            “And Harry’s short for Harriet.” John says with a smirk. I laugh into my hand.

            I notice that Sherlock has stopped. “Harry’s your sister.”

            John either doesn’t notice or isn’t caring. I follow John. “Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?” John asks.

            “Yeah, I have the same question.” I say.

            “ _Sister!”_ Sherlock says, furiously and through gritted teeth.

            “No, seriously, what are we doing here?” John ask. I smile at him for saying we and not I this time. He is listening to me. No one ever listens to me.

            Sherlock starts walking. “There is always something.” He says exasperated.

            We all get to the police tap and are met by a dark skinned women. “Hello freak.” She says and smirks. I freeze up. Was she talking to me? Did she know Irene and found out about me? I started to breathe a little faster and looked down. I didn’t want John or Sherlock to know everything about my life. Sherlock deducted that I had given up, which I had, but they didn’t know it all. “Well, you know what I think, don’t you?” I hear the woman say. I look up and see that Sherlock and the woman have been having a conversation. So she wasn’t calling me a freak. She was calling Sherlock one. I frown.

            Sherlock lifts the tape and ducks underneath it. “Always, Sally.” He breathes in through his nose. “I even know you didn’t make it home last night.”

            “I don’t…” She says a little worry bleeding through her face. She see John and I and looks at us. “Er, who are they?”

            “Colleagues of mine. Doctor Watson and Miss Mullen.” Sherlock says and turns to us. “Doctor Watson, Miss Mullen, Sergeant Sally Donovan.” He smiles fakely. “Old friend.” He says sarcastically. Donovan, why does that name seem familiar.

            “Colleagues? How do you get colleagues?” Sally asks in disbelief. She turns to John and me. “What, did he follow you home?” She goes on.

            I notice that Sherlock has some hurt in his eyes from Sally’s remarks. I stand up straight and look at her. “No Miss. Donovan. We choose to be with him.” I finally remember why her name sounded familiar. I lean in and look into her eyes. “And if you want to keep hanging out with Miss Adler, I would be a little nicer to Sherlock.”

            She looks frighten. “How do you know about Adler?”

            I smirk. “Just be nicer and you won’t have to worry.” I lift up the tape and join Sherlock on the other side. He looks at me questionably. I knew he would have questions but he would not be getting any answers.

            “Would it be better if I just waited and…” John started to say.

            Sherlock lifts the tape. “No.” He simply says.

            As John walks under the tape, Sally lifts a radio to her mouth. “Fr- Er Sherlock is here. Bringing him in.” She says into the radio and leads us into the house. I notice Sherlock looking at area and at the ground as we approach the house. He looks up when we reach the pavement. A man dressed in a coverall comes out of the house.

            “Ah, Anderson. Here we are again.” Sherlock says and smiles fackely.

            The man, Anderson, looks at Sherlock with distaste. “It’s a crime scene. I don’t want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?” He says with anger in his voice.

            Sherlock takes a deep breath through his nose. “Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?” Sherlock asks and smirks.

            “Oh, don’t pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that.” Anderson said.

            “Your deodorant told me that.” Sherlock says.

            “My deodorant?” Anderson asks.

            Sherlock gets a quirky expression on his face and says “It’s for men.” I cough to cover up a laugh. Sherlock looks at me and smiles briefly.

            “Well, of course it’s for men! I’m wearing it.” Anderson says angrily.

            “So’s Sergeant Donovan.” Sherlock says and grins. Anderson looks to Donovan in shock. Sherlock sniffs pointedly again. “Ooh, and I think it just vaporized. May I go in?”

            Anderson turns to Sherlock and points at him. “How look: whatever you’re trying to imply…”

            “I’m not implying anything.” Sherlock says and heads towards the front door past Donovan. “I’m sure Sally came around for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over.” He turns back to us. “And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees.” Sherlock says and smiles smugly. He turns and goes into the house. Anderson and Donovan watch him in horror. I laugh and John walks past Donovan, briefly bit pointedly looking down at her knees. He then follows Sherlock inside.

            I walk to Donovan and smirk. “Just remember. Keep me happy and I won’t talk to Adler.” I follow inside. I knew that even if I did talk to my sister, she wouldn’t do anything. I knew that even just saying her name would make people run in fear. I can use that for my own advantage. I come inside to John putting on some blue coverall. Sherlock has taken off his gloves and put on a pair of latex gloves.

            “And then who is this?” I hear. I look over and see that man that was in our flat earlier.

            “She is also with me.” Sherlock says.

            John looks at Sherlock and me. “Aren’t you gonna put one on?” I assume he is talking about the coveralls. I shake my head and Sherlock just looks at him sternly. John shakes his head and laughs.

            “So where are we?” Sherlock asks the man.

            He picks up a pair of latex gloves at the same time I do. I stands up and looks at Sherlock. “Upstairs.” 


	5. Chapter 5

The man leads us up a circular staircase. He looks at me. “Who are you?”

            “Calliah Mullen sir.” I say.   
            He nods. “Greg Lestrade.” John and Greg put on latex gloves along with white cotton coverings over their shoes. Sherlock and I just put on the gloves. “I can give you two minutes.” Greg says as they get to the room.

            “May need longer.” Sherlock says casually.

            “Her name’s Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We’re running them now for contact details. Hasn’t been here long. Some kids found her.” Lestrade tells the three of them.

            He leads us into a room two stories above the ground floor. The room is empty of furniture except for a rocking horse in the far corner. Emergency portable lighting has been set up, presumably by the police. Scaffolding poles hold up part of the ceiling near where a couple of large holes have been knocked through one of the walls. A woman’s body is lying face down on the bare floorboards in the middle of the room. She is wearing a bright pink overcoat and high-heeled pink shoes. Her hands are flat on the floor either side of her head. Sherlock walks a few steps into the room and then stops, holding one hand out in front of himself as he focuses on the corpse. Behind him, John looks at the woman’s body and his face fills with pain and sadness. I look at the body in disgust. I hated the color pink and dead bodies. The four of them stand there silently for several long seconds, then Sherlock looks across to Lestrade. “Shut up.” Sherlock says.

            Lestrade looks startled. “I didn’t say anything.”

            “You were thinking. It’s annoying.” Sherlock says. Lestrade and John exchange a surprised look as Sherlock steps slowly forward until he reaches the side of the corpse. I look at him and observe him. I look at the body to try and see what Sherlock is seeing, yet seeing nothing out of the ordinary. I get up and walk to the two other men. “So you let him do this a lot?” I ask Lestrade.

            He nods. “He help a lot and doesn’t require pay. It save time and money. How did you get tangled up with him?” He asks me.

            “I met him yesterday at the morgue. I was getting him his coffee and long story short, John and I are going to be living with him.” I say and smile.

            He laughs and looks at Sherlock. “Got anything?”

            “Not much.” Sherlock says nonchalantly. “Calliah, he has a wife by the way.” He throws my way.  He takes off the gloves and gets out his mobile phone. “Don’t want to get your hope up.” He begins typing on his phone.

            “I’m not looking to date Sherlock.” I roll my eyes and look down.

            “She’s German.” I hear. I look over and see Anderson casually leaning against the doorway. “’Rache’: it’s German for ‘revenge’. She could be trying to tell us something…” I see Sherlock walks to the door way.

            “Yes, thank you for your input.” Sherlock says sarcastically. He slam the door shut and walks back into the room.

            “So she’s German?” Lestrade asks.

            “Of course she’s not.” Sherlock says, still not looking up from his phone. “She’s from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night…” He smiles at his phone and looks up. “before returning home to Cardiff.” He puts his phone back into his pocket. “So far, so obvious.”

            “Sorry – obvious?” John asks.

            “What about the message, though?” Lestrade asks.

            Sherlock ignores him and looks at John and me. “Doctor Watson and Miss Mullen, what do you two think?”

            “Of the message?” I ask.

            “Of the body. You two are in the medical field.” Sherlock says.

            “Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside.” Lestrade tell him.

“They won’t work with me.” Sherlock says.

“I’m breaking every rule letting you in here.” Lestrade says. I frown. I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.

“Yes… because you need me.” Sherlock says.

Lestrade stares at him for a moment, then lowers his eyes helplessly. “Yes, I do. God help me.” I place my hand on his arm for a second and then look at Sherlock. He was looking at me.

“Doctor Watson.” Sherlock says to John, still looking at me.

“Hm?” John asks.

“Oh, do as he says. Help yourself.” Lestrade says and I hear the door close. Sherlock finally stops watching me and walks to the body with John. I leave the room and smile at Lestrade. “Creped out?”

“No, I just don’t know what I am doing here. I’m going to go down. Tell the boys when they are done.” I say and start down the stairs. I pass by Anderson and he looks at me.

“You were with the freak weren’t you?” He asks me.

“He isn’t a freak.” I say softly.

“What are you in love with him or something?” He asks disgusted.

“No. I just know how it is to be called name and I don’t stand for people calling people I like names. Ask Donovan about it.” I say and go down the rest of the steps. People like Anderson and Donovan made me so mad. I knew how it feels to get called names. I get outside and go and sit on the curb. I close my eyes and think about my sister.

_I was running to the house. I was only five years old. My sister was seven and my best friend. I run into the house and see father sitting at the table with mother. I run over and raise my hands. “Mummy, pick me up please.” She does and smiles at me._

_“Who is mummy’s special girl?” She asks me and I point to me._

_“I am.” I yell and laugh._

_“Bridget, put her down. We have things to talk about. She doesn’t need to be in here.” My father says. I pout and my mother puts me down. “Leave the room Calliah.” He commands me. I nod and walk out of the room. I see Irene a little down the hall, listening into the dining hall where my parents were talking._

_I run to her. “Irene. Irene.” I yell._

_She puts her finger to her lip. “Shh Calliah. I’m trying to find out if daddy and mummy are planning our winter trip or not.”_

_I nod and listen in._

_“She needs to leave Bridget.” I hear my father tell my mother. I wonder who he is talking about. Probably a servant. We fire them all the time._

_“She is only five Richard. She needs me for now.” I hear my mother say._

_“She is a bastard!” I hear and then hear a slap. I gasp._

_“She is not!” I hear my mother say._

_“She is not my daughter and I want her out! Now! If she isn’t out of the house by the end of the week, I will send her somewhere.” I hear my father say and then storm out of the room. I hear my mother start crying. I look up at Irene and frown._

_She looks down at me. “You are the reason why mummy and daddy are fighting.” He glares at me. “I hate you.” She says and runs up the stairs._

I feel a hand on my shoulder and look up. I see John looking at me. “Are you okay?”

I nod and get up. “Where is Sherlock?”

“He… He, um, left.” He says and scratches behind his head. 

“Oh.” I say. “Are we leaving?” John nods and starts walking. “Do you need to sit a little before we leave? You are limping a lot more than when we came on the scene.”

He smiles at me. “No. As soon as we get home, I can put it up.” He offers me his arm. I look at it confused. “I’m offering you my arm, it is a gentlemen thing to do.” I nod and put my hand on his. We start walking and he tells me what happened with Donovan. He tries to get a taxi but it passes him by. I hear a phone ring and look at the Chicken Cottage, a fast food restaurant we are standing by. Their payphone is ringing. I look at it questionably. A staff member comes and goes to answer it when it stops ringing. We walk down the road and shortly another payphone starts to ring.

“John, I am going to answer that phone.” I tell John and go over and answered the phone. “Hello?”

“There is a security camera on the building on your left. Do you see it?” A man’s voice tells me threw the phone.

I frown. “Who’s this? Who’s speaking?”

“Do you see the camera, Miss Mullen or should I say Adler.” The voice says. I freeze up. No one but my sister and our lawyers knew that I was an Adler.

I look to my left and see a CCTV camera high on the wall of a nearby building. “Y-Yeah, I see it.”

“Watch.” The voice says. The camera, which was pointing directly at the phone box, now swivels away. “There is another camera on the building opposite you. Do you see it?” I look across to the second camera, which is also pointed towards the phone box. I nod at the camera to tell the man that I see it. John looks at me questionably. I see the camera swivel away. “And finally, at the top of the building on your right.”

I look up and see a third camera looking away. “How are you doing this?”

“Get into the car, Miss Adler. And bring Doctor Watson.” A black car pulls by the box and John. A male driver gets out and opens the rear door. “I would make some sort of threat, but I’m sure your situation is quite clear to you.”

The phone goes dead. I hang it up and frown. I think of all the people to know that I am an Adler and who can control the CCTV. I figure it out and smile. I leave the box and smile at John. “Come on John. The game is on.” I wink and get into the car.


	6. Chapter 6

John and I get into the car and I see Mycroft’s assistant. I smile at her as I sit. She smiles and goes back to her phone. She was always on her phone. John sits by me and smiles at the women. “Hello.” John says softly.

            Mycroft’s assistant smiles brightly at him for a moment and then returns her attention to her phone. “Hi.”

“What’s your name, then?” he smiles.

“Er… Anthea.” ‘Anthea’ says.

“Oh is it Anthea today?” I ask and she nods.

“So that isn’t your real name.” John guesses.

“No.” She says and smiles.

John nods and looks out of the rear window briefly and then turns back. “I’m John.”

“Yes. I know. And her name is Calliah.” ‘Anthea’ says and smiles at me.

“Any point in asking where we’re going?” John asks.

“None at all…” ‘Anthea’ asks. She turns and smiles at us and then goes back to her phone. “… John.”

“Okay.” John says and looks at me. I smile and pull out my phone.

Sometime later, the car pulls into an almost-empty warehouse. John and I get out of the car and see a man in a suit, standing in the center of the area and leaning nonchalantly on an umbrella. I knew who the man is but I know John wouldn’t. I have known Mycroft since I moved out of Irene’s house. He saved me off of the streets. I see a chair in front of him and Mycroft points at it with his umbrella. “Have a seat, John.” He says.

John and I walk over. “You know, I’ve got a phone. And so does Calliah.” He looks around the warehouse. “I mean, very clever and all that, but er… you could just phone me or Calliah. On our phones.” John walks past the chair and stops a few paces away from Mycroft.

I run up to Mycroft and hug him. He freezes up. “Calliah. Back up.” I pout and go by John. “When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place.” The man says. He smiles softly at me and then looks stern and looks at John. “The leg must be hurting you. Sit down.”

“I don’t wanna sit down.” John says.

“You don’t seen very afraid.” Mycroft says and looks at him curiously.

“You don’t seen very frightening.” John says. Mycroft and I chuckle.

“Ah, yes. The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don’t you think Calliah.” Mycroft says and looks at John sternly. I nod. “What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?”

“I don’t have one. I barely know him. I met him…” John looks away and looks surprised. “…yesterday.”

“Mmm, and since yesterday you’ve moved in with him and now you’re solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?” Mycroft jokes. I laugh.

John glares at me and turns back to Mycroft. “Who are you?”

“An interested party.” Mycroft says nonchalantly. I smirk at him.

“Interested in Sherlock? Why? I’m guessing you’re not friends.” John guesses.

“You’ve met him. How many ‘friends’ do you imagine he had? I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having.” Mycroft says.

“And what’s that?” John asks.

“An enemy.” Mycroft says. I roll my eyes.

“An enemy?” John asks.

“In his mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he’d probably say his arch-enemy. He does love to be dramatic.” Mycroft says and smirks.

“Well, thank God you’re above all that.” John says sarcastically and looks around the warehouse.

Mycroft frowns at him as John’s phone trills a text alert. John takes out his phone and looks at it. He shows me. It says:

_Baker Street._

_Come at once_

_If convenient._

_SH_

“I hope I’m not distracting you.” Mycroft says.

“Not distracting me at all.” John says casually. He takes his time looking up from the phone before he pockets it.

“Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?” Mycroft asks.

“I could be wrong… but I think that’s none of your business.” John says. I smirk. John had a backbone.

“It could be.” Mycroft says ominously.

“It really couldn’t.” John says.

Mycroft takes a notebook out of his inside pocket, then opens it. He looks at it as he says, “If you do move into, um… two hundred and twenty-one B Baker street, I’d be happy to pay a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way.” He closes the notebook and puts it away.

“Why?” John asks.

“Because you’re not a wealthy man.” Mycroft says.

“In exchange for what?” John asks.

“Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you’d feel… uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he’s up to.” Mycroft offers.

“Why?” John asks.

“I worry about him. Constantly.” Mycroft says. I smirk.

“That’s nice of you.” John says insincerely.

“But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a ... difficult relationship.” Mycroft says. I laugh and Mycroft glares at me.

John’s phone sounds another text alert. He gets his phone out and looks at it. He shows me his phone again. It says:

_If inconvenient,_

_Come anyways._

_SH_

I laugh. Only Sherlock would do that. “No.” John says to Mycroft’s offer.

“But I haven’t mentioned a figure.” Mycroft says and frowns.

“Don’t bother.” John says as he puts away his phone.

Mycroft laughs briefly. “You’re very loyal, very quickly.”

“No, I’m not. I’m just not interested.” John says.

Mycroft looks at John closely for a moment and then takes out his notebook and opens it. “’Trust issues,’ it says here.” He says and gestures to the notebook to make it clear that he was reading a note from the book. I notice that John was becoming unnerved.

“What’s that?” John asked.

“Could it be that you’ve decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?” Mycroft asks, still looking at his book.

“Who says I trust him?” John asks.

“You don’t seem the kind to make friends easily.” Mycroft says.

“Are we done?” John asks.

Mycroft raises his head and looks into John’s eyes. “You tell me.” John looks at him for a long moment, then turns his back and starts walking to the car. “I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him, but I can see from your left hand that’s not going to happen.” Mycroft says to John.

John stops dead. His shoulders tense and drop and he angrily shakes his head a little. He is clearly furious as he turns back around to face the man. “My what?” John asks savagely and through his bared teeth.

“Show me.” Mycroft asks calmly.

He has nodded towards John’s left hand as he speaks, and now he plants the tip of his umbrella on the floor and leans casually on it like a man who is used to having his orders obeyed. John, however, is not going to be intimidated and deliberately shifts his feet under him as if digging in. He raises his left hand, bending it at the elbow, and stands still. His message is clear: if the man wants to look at his hand, he’ll have to come to him. I laugh at Mycroft. I knew how he worked. Apparently unperturbed by this belligerence, the man strolls forward, hooking the handle of the umbrella over his arm as he reaches for John’s hand. John instantly pulls his hand back a little.

“Don’t.” John says tensely.

Mycroft lowers his head and raises his eyebrows at John, almost as if saying, ‘Did I mention trust issues?!’ John very reluctantly lowers his hand, holding it out flat with the palm down. The man takes it in both of his own hands and looks at it closely.

“Remarkable.” Mycroft says.

John takes back his hand. “What is?”

Mycroft turns and walks a few paces away. “Most people blunder round this city, and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield.” He says and turns towards John again. “You’ve seen it already, haven’t you?”

“What’s wrong with my hand?” John asks.

“You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand.” Mycroft says. John nods his head. “Your therapist thinks it’s post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you’re haunted by memories of your military service.”

I see John almost flinching. His gaze is fixed ahead of him and a muscle in his cheek twitches repeated. “Who the hell are you? How do you know that?” John says angry and distressed.

“Fire her. She’s got it the wrong way round. You’re under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady.” Mycroft says. “You’re not haunted by the war, Doctor Watson ... you miss it.” He leans in closer and John’s eyes rise up to meet his. “Welcome back.” He whispers. He turns and starts to walk away just as John’s phone trills another text alert. “Time to choose a side, Doctor Watson.” Mycroft says and casually twirling his umbrella as he goes.

I see Mycroft motioning me to follow him. I smile softly at John and follow. He gets into his car and I follow.


	7. Chapter 7

I get into Mycroft’s car and smile at him. “Croft. Did you have to be so hard?” I ask and lean my head on his shoulder.

“Must you lean on me?” Mycroft asks me. I nod and yawn. It was getting late and I was tried. “To my home.” He tells the driver. I smile and close my eyes. “When do you want to go home?” He asks.

“In a little. I need a break from your brother.” I say softly.

He wraps his arm around me and move my legs onto of his legs. “This is why I never wanted you to meet him.” He says and sighs. “My brother is not the nicest.”

“Neither were you.” I say and laugh.

“No but you have gotten better and I believe that my brother can damage that.” Mycroft says. I sigh and nod. I start thinking about the time Mycroft and I met.

_It was my first weekend on the street and I was freezing. It was the middle of March and I didn’t have much to cover up with. I tried to go back to Irene’s and get some more clothes but Kate just slammed the door in my face. I wasn’t about to try that again. I was sitting outside a store, trying to stay warm. I had on three shirts, two pants, and a coat. I still was cold. I could feel my hands and feet going numb. I see a black car pulling up and stopping. I notice a man coming out and holding out his hand. “Come on.” He said. I look at him questionably. “Now.” He says sternly. I get up and follow him into the car. A woman is inside and hands me a cup. I look at it. “It is hot chocolate. Drink it.” I nod and drink it. I moan softly at the warmth. I look at the woman and smile softly. She looks around my age. She smiles back. I look at the man. I had so many questions but his body language told me to wait to ask. I look straight ahead and drink the hot chocolate. We get to a nice house outside London. The man and woman get out and I follow. I look around in amazement. This was even better than Irene’s house. I follow them into the house and they lead me to the living room. “’Elizabeth’, go get us some more hot chocolate. Miss Adler needs the warmth. Tell the cooks to make some soup.” The man says to the woman and sits down. The woman nods and leaves. “Sit down Miss Adler.” I nod and sit. “You have questions and we will get to them. I have some rules before we start. You will not tell anyone about this meeting or any that we have in the future. You will not go back to your ‘sister’s’ house. Yes I know she is not you true sister and we will talk about that. I will help pay for you schooling and you will get your degree or there will be consequences.” He pauses to see if I understood. I nod. “Good. We will change your last name to your mother’s and will get you a flat. It won’t be anything you are used to, but you will be able to afford it on you allowance. I will be getting the money you go from your mother’s death and will put it in an account so your ‘sister’ cannot get it. I will give you an allowance each week because I know you would blow through it in no time.” He says and gets out a notebook._

_“Who are you? Why are you doing this?” I ask him._

_“Ah ‘Elizabeth’. You can set the cups on the table. Have the rest of the day off.” The man says and ignore me._

_“Thank you sir.” ‘Elizabeth’ says. I had figured out that Elizabeth is not her real name and it was a new identity since she didn’t always respond to the name at first. It took her a couple seconds more to understand that people were talking to her. She sets the cups down and leaves. I watch her go._

_“My name is Mycroft Holmes. I am doing this because I see a future in you that can help me.” The man says as he put his notebook down and grabs a cup._

_“So you are doing this because it will help you later on.” I say and grab a cup._

_“Of course. I am not a charitable man.” Mycroft says and smirks at me. I shrug. I was fine with this man using me in a good way. It would help me now and I needed help. “You will stay here for the night. I had ‘Elizabeth’ put some clothes out on the bed. I will see you in the morning.” Mycroft says and leaves the room. I watch him go and ask myself what I got myself into._

I feel the car stop and open my eyes. I see that we are at 221B Baker Street. “I thought we were going to your house. I don’t want to deal with your brother tonight.” I say and frown.

“You can’t be at the house tonight.” Mycroft says. I pout and he smiles. “We will have lunch tomorrow and I will let you complain the whole time.” He says.

I grin. “You got it.” I say and kisses his cheek. “Peace out.” I get out of the car and run upstairs. I see Greg, Donovan, Anderson, and some other people going through the things in the flat. “Hey! What’s going on here?” I yell.

Greg looks over at me. “Drug bust.”

            I look confused and then remember. “Oh Sherlock. What did he do?” I ask.

“He found the case.” Greg says and points to the case. “And since we tactically can’t break into the flat we just said that we were doing a drug bust. It isn’t that far off.” He explains and shrugs. I nod and hear the down stairs down closing.

“Sherlock is back. He won’t like this.” I tell him and sit on the couch. I pull out my phone and text Mycroft.

_Did you know about this? CM_

I get an immediate reply.

_Of course. MH_

I laugh and put my phone away. I hear Sherlock yell, “Mrs. Hudson! Doctor Watson will take the room upstairs.” I laugh more and hear the front door open and then close a minute later. I wonder who that was. I hope John didn’t leave.

I hear two sets up feet coming up the stairs. I look over as Sherlock comes in, with John behind him. I smile at John and he smiles back. I knew that he would be worried about where I was but right now wasn’t the time. “What are you doing?” Sherlock asks Greg, who was sitting in the armchair. Sherlock stormed over to him.

“Well, I knew you’d find the care. I’m not stupid.” Greg says.

“Well you can’t just break into my flat.” Sherlock says.

“And you can’t withhold evidence. And I didn’t break into your flat.” Greg says. I laugh.

“Well, what do you call this?” Sherlock asks.

Greg looks around at the other officers before looking back to Sherlock, with an innocent look on his face. “It’s a drug bust.” I bust up laughing. I knew that I would enjoy getting to know Greg. He was one of the few people who actually stood up to Sherlock. Sherlock glares at me and then looks back at Greg.

“Seriously?! This guy, a junkie?! Have you met him?!” John asks. Aw John didn’t know Sherlock at all. I only know this because of his brother but I still knew.

Sherlock bites his lip nervously and walks closer to John. “John….”

John looks at Greg. “I’m pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn’t find anything you could call recreational.” He says.

I raise my eye brows. Would the place be clean of drugs? If not, then I would have a lot to tell Mycroft.

“John, you probably want to shut up now.” Sherlock says. Oh so he did have something.

John looks into Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock holds his gaze for a long moment and John realizes how serious he’s looking. “No.”

“What?” Sherlock asks.

“You?” John exclaims.

“Shut up!” Sherlock yells angrily and turns to Greg.

John looks at me. “Why are you not shocked?”

“I already knew.” I say nonchalantly.

“What? How?” John asks. I smirk and look at Sherlock and Greg.

“Oh, I volunteered.” Anderson says venomously.

Sherlock looks away, biting his lip angrily. I get up and place a hand on Sherlock’s arm. He looks down and calms down a little.

“They all did. They’re not strictly speaking on the drug squad, but they’re very keen.” Greg says. I frown. Okay I was all for standing up to Sherlock but not this far.

I see Donovan coming out of the kitchen, holding a small glass jar with some white round objects in it. I glare at her. “Are these human eyes?” She asks.

“Put those back.” Sherlock yells.

“They were in the microwave!” She yells back.

“It’s an experiment.” Sherlock tries to explain. I look at him with interest. “I’ll explain later.” I nod and look back at Donovan and glare. She glares back.

“Keep looking, guys.” Greg says and stands up. He turns to Sherlock. “Or you could help us properly and I’ll stand them down.”

“This is childish.” Sherlock says angrily and starts pacing.

“Well, I’m dealing with a child. Sherlock, this is our case. I’m letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?” Greg says slowly.

Sherlock stops pacing and glares at Greg. “Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?”

“It stops being pretend if they find anything.” Greg explains.

“I am clean!” Sherlock says loudly. I smile. That was good to know.

“Is your flat? All of it?” Greg asks.

“I don’t even smoke.” Sherlock exclaims. He unbuttons the cuff of his left sleeve and pulls it up to show the nicotine patch on his lower arm.

“Neither do I.” Greg says and pulls the right sleeve of his own shirt and pulls it up to show a similar patch on his arm. Sherlock rolls his eyes and turns away. They both pull their sleeves back down again. “So let’s work together. We’ve found Rachel.” Greg explains.

Sherlock looks back at Greg. “Who is she?” He asks.

“Jennifer Wilson’s only daughter.” Greg says.

Sherlock frowns. “Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter’s name? Why?” He asks and tries to understand. I subconsciously reach up and grab my mother’s locket. It’s the only thing that I have left of her.

“Never mind that. We found the case.” Anderson says and points to the pink suitcase. I look at Sherlock and John. When did that come here? “According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favorite psychopath.” Anderson continues.

“He isn’t a psychopath. He is a high-functioning sociopath.” I say and roll my eyes.

I feel Sherlock look at me. I ignored him. He would definitely have questions now. “You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. I need to question her.” Sherlock says to Greg.

“She’s dead.” Greg says.

“Excellent!” Sherlock exclaims. I look at him in amusement. He was so like his brother. “How, when, and why? Is there a connection? There has to be.” Sherlock continues on.

“Well, I doubt it, since she’s been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson’s stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago.” Greg explains.

I see John grimace sadly and turn away. I look at Sherlock and see that he is confused. “No, that’s… that’s not right. How… Why would she do that? Why?” Sherlock asks.

“Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup – sociopath; I’m seeing it now.” Anderson says and looks at me. I glare at him and roll my eyes.

Sherlock turns to him with an exasperated look on his face. “She didn’t think about her daughter. She scratched her name on to the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort. It would have hurt.” Sherlock explains and starts to pace back and forth across the room again. I roll my eyes and sit on the couch.

“You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he ... I don’t know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow.” John tries to help.

Sherlock stops pacing and looks at John. “Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?” He asks.

John and I stare at him. Sherlock hesitates as he realizes that everyone in the flat has stopped what they’re doing and has fallen silent. He glances around the room and then awkwardly looks at me. “Not good?”

I glance around the room and turn back to Sherlock. “Bit not good, yeah.” I say and shrug.

Sherlock shakes it off and looks at John and me. “Yeah, but if you were dying… if you’d been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?” He asks us.

“’Please, God, let me live.’” John says as I say “’Well, this sucks.’”

“Oh, use your imaginations!” He says exasperated.

“I don’t have to.” John and I say at the same time.

John and Sherlock look at me confused and I look down. Sherlock coughs and continues on. “Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever… Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers: she was clever.” Sherlock starts pacing. “She was trying to tell us something.”

Mrs. Hudson comes to the door of the living room. “Isn’t the doorbell working? Your taxi’s here, Sherlock.” She tells Sherlock.

Sherlock doesn’t stop pacing. “I didn’t order a taxi. Go away.” He tells her.

Mrs. Hudson looks around the room and frowns. “Oh dear. They’re making such a mess. What are they looking for?” She asks.

“Drug.” I shrug and say.

She frowns. “But they’re just for my hip. They’re herbal soothers.” Mrs. Hudson says anxiously.

Sherlock stops with his back to the door and shouts, “Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t breathe. I’m trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You’re putting me off.”

“What? My face is?!” Anderson yells and I laugh. He glares at me and I smile and wave.

“Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back.” Greg sas.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Anderson yells.

“Your back, now, please.” Greg says. Anderson rolls his eyes and turns his back.

Sherlock closes his eyes. “Come on, think. Quick!” He says to himself.

“What about your taxi?” Mrs. Hudson asks.

“MRS. HUDSON!” Sherlock turns to her and yells furiously. Mrs. Hudson turns and hurries away down the stairs. I frown at Sherlock and follow.

“Mrs. Hudson.” I call after her. She turns and smiles softly at me.

“I know he doesn’t mean it dear. He is stressed.” She says and lets me in her flat. I sit down at the table and smile. She starts making tea. “He gets this way all the time. I hope that won’t make you leave. John and you are going to be so good for him.”  
            “I won’t be leaving and I don’t think John will be either. He likes the adventure.” I say and smile.

“They would make such a great couple. Or you and one of the boys.” She says and brings me the tea. I laugh and put some sugar and milk into it.

“Not me. I am not looking for anything. The boys are too good for me anyways.” I say and sip my tea. I hear the door bell and Mrs. Hudson goes and gets it.

She looks at me. “It’s the taxi cabbie again. I’m going to get Sherlock.” She says and goes up the stairs. I nod and sip my tea again. I watch the cabbie look around and then he notices me. He smirks and waves. I wave back and he lets himself upstairs. I slowly get up and see where he is off too. I notice that he has stopped by the door and look at Sherlock. I notice that the cabbie is texting someone. A minute later, I see the cabbie coming back down the stairs. He tips his hat to me and leaves the house. I see Sherlock coming down the stairs. He looks at me and then leaves the house. I frown and follow. I wasn’t about to let Sherlock do this alone.


	8. Chapter 8

I follow Sherlock out of the house. Sherlock pauses for a minute and shrugs himself into his coat. “Taxi for Sherlock ‘olmes.” The cabbie says and is leaning on the cab.

Sherlock steps forward and tries to shut the door. He looks back and frowns. I smiles and closes the door. He looks forward. “I didn’t order a taxi.” Sherlock says to the cabbie.

“Doesn’t mean you don’t need one.” The cabbie says and shrugs.

“You’re the cabbie. The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street.” Sherlock figures out. When did they go to Northumberland Street? I frowned. “It was you, not your passenger.”

“See? No-one ever thinks about the cabbie. It’s like you’re invisible. Just the back of an ‘ead. Proper advantage for a serial killer.” The cabbie explains.

Sherlock takes a few more steps forward and looks up towards the windows of the flat. I step forward. He wasn’t going to get rid of me. “Is this a confession?” Sherlock asks.

“Oh, yeah. An’ I’ll tell you what else: if you call the coppers now, I won’t run. I’ll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise.” The cabbie say. I look at him confused.

“Why?” Sherlock asks. I hear the curiousness in his voice.

“’Cause you’re not going to do that.” The cabbie says.

“Am I not?” Sherlock asks.

“I didn’t kill those four people, Mr. ’olmes. I spoke to ’em ... and they killed themselves. An’ if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing.” The cabbie leans forward. “I will never tell you what I said.”

Sherlock stares at him. After a moment, the cabbie straightens up and starts to walk around the front of the cab. “No-one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result.” Sherlock says.

The cabbie stops and turns back towards us. “An’ you won’t ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?” He turns again and continues around to the driver’s door. He gets him and settles into his seat.

Sherlock looks at me and frowns. He says and bites his lip and walks closer to the cab. I follow. Sherlock looks back up to the flat window and then he bends and looks into the open side window of the cab. “If I wanted to understand, what would I do?”

The cabbie looks at him. “Let me take you for a ride.”

“So you can kill me too?” Sherlock asks.

“I don’t wanna kill you, Mr. ‘olmes. I’m gonna talk to yer... and then you’re going to kill yourself.” The cabbie says and turns back to the front.

Shelock stands up staright and looks lost in thought. I knew he was considering the situation. Sherlock turns to me. “Go back inside. If I am not back by tomorrow, come look for me.”

“Never going to happen.” I say and cross my arms.

He sighs. “I had to try.” He gets into the car and keeps the door open. I get in and slam the door.

“Who’s she?” the cabbie asks Sherlock.

“She can talk for herself.” I say and roll my eyes. “The name is Calliah Adler.” I say and sit up straight. I had to try and make him frightened for his life.

He looks back at me. I could see a little fear in his eyes and then looks straight forward. Sherlock looks at me confused. I look over at him and smile. ‘Adler?’ He mouths. I shake my head. I could explain to him later. “How did you find me?” Sherlock asks the cabbie. I move up in my seat and look at his car. I see that his name is Jeff and some pictures of his kids. The mother is out of the picture. I wonder what happened there.

“Oh, I recognized yer, soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Sherlock ‘olmes! I was warned about you. I’ve been on your website, too. Brilliant stuff! Loved it!” Jeff told us.

“Who warned you about me?” Sherlock asked.

“Just someone out there who’s noticed you.” Jeff said. I frowned. Mycroft wouldn’t do that so is the one who noticed Sherlock?

“Who?” Sherlock asks and learns forward. I can see that he is making deductions about the cabbie. I sit back and cross my legs and arms. I am so glad I wore my sweat pants and sweat shirt. If I was going to die, I’m glad that I would be comfortable doing it. “Who would notice me?”

“Mycroft does.” I say softly. I see Sherlock look back at me and frown. He would have a lot of questions for me now. If we get out of here. Sherlock looks forward to the cabbie.

Jeff meets Sherlock eyes in the rear view mirror. “You’re too modest, Mr. ‘olmes.”

“I’m really not.” Sherlock says.

“You’ve got yourself a fan.” Jeff says and smiles.

“Tell me more.” Sherlock says nonchalantly and sits back in his seat.

“That’s all you’re gonna know…” He pauses. “In this lifetime.” Jeff says and smiles.

After a while, we stop out front of two identical buildings side by side. Jeff turns off the engine and gets out, coming to Sherlock’s side door. He opens it and looks at us. “Where are we?” Sherlock asks.

“You know every street in London. You know exactly where we are.” Jeff says.

“Rolan-Kerr Further Education College. Why here?” Sherlock says confused.

“It’s open; cleaners are in. One thing about being a cabbie: you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder. I’m surprised more of us don’t branch out.” Jeff explains.

“And you just walk your victims in? How?” Sherlock asks. Jeff takes out a pistol and points it at Sherlock. I grab Sherlock’s hand and gasp. Sherlock rolls his eyes and turns his head away. “Oh, dull.” He says.

“Don’t worry. It gets better.” Jeff says.

“You can’t make people take their own lives at gunpoint.” Sherlock says and rubs his thumb on my hand, trying to calm me down.

“I don’t. It’s much better than that.” Jeff explains and lowers the gun. “Don’t need this you, ‘cause you’ll follow me.” He walks away confidently.

Sherlock sits there and then looks at me. “Stay here.”

I shake my head. “Nope.” He sighs and gets out of the cab and holds his hand out for me. I grab it and get out. I smile at him and then we follow Jeff into the building.

We follow Jeff up the stairs and he opens the door to one of the rooms. I go in and Sherlock follows. Jeff walks inside and releases the door. He lets it swing closed as he walks over to the some switches on the wall and turns on the lights. We are in a large classroom which has long fixed wooden benches and plastic chairs. Sherlock and I walk into the room deeper and look around.

“What do you think?” Jeff asks us. Sherlock raises his hand and shrugs. I cross my arms. “It’s up to you two. You’re the ones who are gonna die ‘ere.” Jeff says.

“No, we aren’t.” Sherlock says.

“That’s what they all say.” Jeff says and gestures to one of the benches. “Shall we talk?” He pulls out one of the chairs and sits down.

Sherlock pulls out a chair for me and I sit. He grabs another chair, flips it around and sits down opposite. He sighs dramatically. “Bit risky, wasn’t it? Took me away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen. They’re not that stupid. And Mrs. Hudson will remember you.” Sherlock says.

“You call that a risk? Nah.” Jeff says. He reaches into the left pocket of his cardigan. “This is a risk.” He takes out a small glass bottle with a screw top on it and puts it onto the table in front of him. There is a single large capsule inside. I look at Sherlock and see he is looking at the bottle with no reaction. “Ooh, I like this bit. ’Cause you don’t get it yet, do yer? But you’re about to. I just have to do this.” He reaches into his right pocket and takes out two more identical bottle containing an identical capsule and puts it onto the table beside the first bottle. “I’m glad I have an extra bottle for Miss Adler but you weren’t expecting that, were yer?” He leans forward. “Ooh, you’re going to love this.”

“Love what?” Sherlock asks.

Jeff sits back. “Sherlock ‘olmes. Look at you! ‘Ere in the flesh. That website of yours: your fan told me about it.” Jeff says and smiles.

“My fan?” Sherlock asks.

“You are brilliant. You are. A proper genius. “The Science of Deduction.” Now that is proper thinking. Between you and me sitting ’ere, why can’t people think?” He looks down angrily. “Don’t it make you mad? Why can’t people just think?” He looks up again into Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock looks back at him for a long moment, narrowing his eyes, then makes a realization.

“Oh, I see. So you’re a proper genius too.” Sherlock says. His voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Don’t look it, do I? Funny little man drivin’ a cab. But you’ll know better in a minute. Chances are it’ll be the last thing you ever know.” Jeff says.

Sherlock holds his gaze for a second, then looks down to the table. “Okay, three bottles. Explain.” Sherlock asks.

“There’s a good bottle and a bad bottle. You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle, you die.” Jeff explains.

“Both bottles are of course identical.” Sherlock shrugs.

“In every way.” Jeff says.

“And you know which is which.” I say.

He looks at me and smiles. “Course I know.”

“But we don’t.” Sherlock says.

“Wouldn’t be a game if you knew. You two are the ones who chooses.” Jeff explains.

“Why should I? I’ve got nothing to go one. What is it for me? Or Calliah?” Sherlock asks.

“I ’aven’t told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one – and then, together, we take our medicine.” Jeff explains. Sherlock starts to grin. I frown. I didn’t want to take the ‘medicine’. “I won’t cheat. It’s your choice. I’ll take whatever pill you two don’t.” Sherlock looks down at the bottles. He was concentrating properly on which one we would take. I frown and look at Jeff. He smiles at me. “Didn’t expect that, did you, Mr. ’olmes?”

“This is what you did to the rest of them: you gave them a choice.” Sherlock asks.

“And now I’m givin’ you two one.” Jeff says. Sherlock looks up at him. “You you’re your time. Get yourself together.” He licks his lips in anticipation. “I want your best game.”

“It’s not a game. It’s chance.” Sherlock says.

“I’ve played four times. I’m alive. It’s not chance, Mr. ’olmes, its chess. It’s a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this ... this ... is the move.” With his left hand he slides the left-hand bottle across the table towards Sherlock. He licks his top lip as he pulls his hand back and leaves the bottle where it is. “Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one.” Jeff looks down at the bottles briefly then meets Sherlock’s eyes. “You ready yet, Mr. ‘olmes? Ready to play? We both know that you are playing for Miss Adler too.”

“Play what? It’s a chance.” Sherlock says.

“You’re not playin’ the numbers, you’re playin’ me. Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double-bluff? Or a triple-bluff?” Jeff says and smirks.

“Still just chance.” Sherlock says.

“Four people in a row? It’s not just chance.” Jeff argues.

“Luck.” I say in a sing-song way. I smile at Sherlock.

“It’s genius. I know ’ow people think.” Jeff says as Sherlock rolls his eyes. “I know ’ow people think I think. I can see it all, like a map inside my ’ead.” Sherlock looks exasperated. “Everyone’s so stupid – even you.” Sherlock’s gaze sharpens. “Or maybe God just loves me.” Sherlock straightens up and leans forward, folding his hands in front of him on the table.

“Either way, you’re wasted as a cabbie.” Sherlock says and lifts his folded hands in front of his mouth and gazes at Jeff intently. So, you risked your life four times just to kill strangers. Why?”

Jeff nods down to the bottles. “Time to play.”

Sherlock unfolding his fingers and adopting the prayer position in front of his mouth “Oh, I am playing. This is my turn. There’s shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody’s pointed it out to you. Traces of where it’s happened before, so obviously you live on your own; there’s no-one to tell you. But there’s a photograph of children. The children’s mother has been cut out of the picture. If she’d died, she’d still be there. The photograph’s old but the frame is new. You think of your children but you don’t get to see them.” Jeff’s gaze slides away from Sherlock and for the first time there’s a hint of pain in his eyes. I frown softly. “Estranged father. She took the kids, but you still love them and it still hurts.” He extends his index fingers. “Ah, but there’s more.” Jeff lifts his gaze back to Sherlock as he points his index fingers towards him. “Your clothes: recently laundered but everything you’re wearing’s at least ... three years old? Keeping up appearances but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What’s that about?” Jeff has got control of himself again and his expression says nothing as he gazes back at Sherlock. The detective’s eyes widen. “Ahh. Three years ago – is that when they told you?

“Told me what?” Jeff says flatly.

“That you’re a dead man walking.” Sherlock says.

“So are you.” Jeff offers up.

“You don’t have long, though. Am I right?” Sherlock says.

Jeff smiles. “Aneurism.” He lifts his right hand and taps the side of his head. “Right in ’ere.” Sherlock smiles in satisfaction. “Any breath could be my last.” Jeff explains.

“And because you’re dying, you’ve just murdered four people.” Sherlock says, frowning.

“I’ve outlived four people. That’s the most fun you can ’ave on an aneurism.” Jeff says.

“No. No, there’s something else. You didn’t just kill four people because you’re bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about your children.” Sherlock says thoughtfully.

Jeff looks away and sighs. “Ohh.” Jeff says and looks at Sherlock again. “You are good, ain’t you?”

“But how?” Sherlock asks.

“When I die, they won’t get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs.” Jeff says.

“Or serial killing.” I offer up.

Sherlock smiles at me and then looks back at Jeff. “You’d be surprised.” Jeff says.

“Surprise me.” Sherlock says.

Jeff leans forward. “I’ve a sponsor.” Jeff explains.

“You have a what?” Sherlock asks.

“For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they’ll be. You see? It’s nicer than you think.” Jeff tells us.

“Who’d sponsor a serial killer?” Sherlock asks, frowning.

“Who’d be a fan of Sherlock ’olmes?” Jeff asks instantly. They stare at each other for a moment. I roll my eyes. Boy and their power struggle. “You’re not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There’s others out there just like you, except you’re just a man ... and they’re so much more than that.”

I notice the side of Sherlock’s nose twitches in distaste. “What d’you mean, more than a man? An organisation? What?”

“There’s a name no-one says, an’ I’m not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter.” Jeff says. He nods down to the bottles. “Time to choose.”

Sherlock looks down to the bottles, his eyes moving from one to the others. “What if we don’t choose either? We could just walk out of here.”

Sighing in a combination of exasperation and disappointment, Jeff lifts up the pistol and points it at Sherlock. “You can take your chance, or I can shoot you or your girlfriend in the head.” I look at Sherlock and see him smiles calmly. He grabs my hand under the table and rubs my hand with his thumb. I calm down. If Sherlock wasn’t worried, then I wouldn’t be.

“Funnily enough, no-one’s ever gone for that option.” Jeff laughs.

“We’ll have the gun, please.” Sherlock says and smiles.

“Are you sure?” Jeff asks.

“Definitely. The gun.” I say.

“You don’t wanna phone a friend?” Jeff asks. He was stalling.

Sherlock smiles confidently. “The gun.” Jeff’s mouth tightens, and slowly he squeezes the trigger. I squeal.  A small flame bursts out of the end of the muzzle. Sherlock smiles smugly. “I know a real gun when I see one.”

Calmly Jeff lifts the pistol/cigarette lighter and releases the trigger. The flame goes out. “None of the others did. She didn’t.” He says and points at me.

“Clearly. Well, this has been very interesting. I look forward to the court case.” Sherlock says. He stands up and holds a hand out to me. I take it and stand up.  We start walking towards the door. Jeff puts the gun onto the desk and calmly turns in his seat.

“Just before you go, did you figure it out ...”  Sherlock stops at the door and half-turns towards him. I turn with him. “... which one’s the good bottle?”

“Of course. Child’s play.” Sherlock says.

“Well, which one, then?” Sherlock opens the door a little but shows no sign of leaving the room. “Which one would you ’ave picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you?” Sherlock closes the door again and I sigh. “Come on. Play the game.” Jeff says and chuckles.

Slowly Sherlock walks back towards him. I stay where I am. When he gets to the table, he reaches out and sweeps up the bottle nearest to Jeff, then walks past him. Jeff looks down at the other two bottles with interest but his voice gives nothing away as he speaks. “Oh. Interesting.” He picks up the bottle on the left as Sherlock looks down at the bottle in his own hand. Jeff has opened his bottle and tips the capsule out into his hand. He holds it up and looks at it closely as Sherlock examines his own bottle. “So what d’you think?” He looks up at Sherlock. “Shall we? Really, what do you think?” He stands up and faces Sherlock. “Can you beat me?” “Are you clever enough to bet your life?” Sherlock lifts his gaze from the bottle he’s holding. “I bet you get bored, don’t you? I know you do. A man like you ...” Sherlock undoes the lid of the bottle. I frown. I didn’t want Sherlock to die. Mycroft would kill me. “... so clever. But what’s the point of being clever if you can’t prove it?” Sherlock takes out the capsule and holds it between his thumb and finger, raising it to the light to examine it more closely. “Still the addict.” Slowly Sherlock lowers the pill again, holding it at eye level and gazing at it. “But this ... this is what you’re really addicted to, innit?” Sherlock holds the pill in his fingers and stares at it. “You’d do anything ... anything at all ...” I notice Sherlock’s fingers begin to tremble with excitement and anticipation. “... to stop being bored.” Slowly Sherlock begins to move the pill closer to his mouth. Jeff matches the movement with his own pill. “You’re not bored now, are you?” Each of their hands gets closer to their own mouth. “Innit good?”

A gunshot rings out and a bullet impacts Jeff’s chest close to his heart, then goes through his body and smashes into the door behind him. As he falls to the floor, Sherlock drops his pill in surprise. Sherlock turns, slides over the desk behind him and hurries to the window, bending down to stare through the bullet hole in the glass. I rush over to Jeff and hold my hand on the bullet hole. Sherlock straightens up as Jeff breathes heavily and cough. Sherlock looks over, looks around the room. He picks up the pill and kneels down by Jeff. He shows Jeff the pill. I notice a large pool of blood underneath him and on my sweatpants. “Was I right?” Sherlock asks Jeff. Jeff turns his head away. “I was, wasn’t I? Did I get it right?” Jeff doesn’t reply. Sherlock angrily hurls the pill across the room and stands up. I frown up at him. “Okay, tell me this: your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me – my ‘fan’. I want a name.” Sherlock demands.

“No.” Jeff says weakly.

“You’re dying, but there’s still time to hurt you. Give me a name.” Sherlock demands. Jeff shakes his head. Sherlock pushs me away and lifts his foot and puts it onto Jeff’s shoulder. Jeff gasps in pain. “A name.” Jeff cries out in pain. I frown and bring my knees to my chest. “Now.” Jeff whines in pain. His face intent and manic, Sherlock leans his weight onto his foot. Jeff whimpers. “The NAME!” Sherlock yells furiously.

“MORIARTY!” Jeff yells agonized. His eyes close and his head rolls to the side. Sherlock steps back, turning his head away and looking reflective. After a few seconds, I noticed he is silently mouths the word ‘Moriarty’ to himself. I get up and go over to him. I put my hand on his arm. He looks down at me and frowns. “Do you know anyone by the name of Moriarty?” I shake my head and frown. He nods.

After a while, the police showed up and Sherlock and I were put on the back steps of an ambulance. They kept putting an orange black around our shoulders, even when we pushed it off.

“Why have we got these blankets? They keep putting these blankets on us.” Sherlock asks Greg as he walks over.

“Yeah, it’s for shock.” Greg says.

“We are not in shock.” Sherlock says.

“Yeah, but some of the guys wanna take photographs.” Greg says and grins.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “So, the shooter. No sign?” He asks.

“Cleared off before we got ’ere. But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him but ...” Greg says and shrugs. “... got nothing to go on.”

Sherlock looks at him pointedly. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

Greg rolls his eyes. “Okay, gimme.”

Sherlock stands up. I smile. “The bullet they just dug out of the wall’s from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that’s a crack shot you’re looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn’t have shaken at all, so clearly he’s acclimatized to violence. He didn’t fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You’re looking for a man probably with a history of military service ...” He looks around the area and slows down. I look over and see John standing behind the police tape. “... and nerves of steel ...” He trails off. John looks back at us innocently and then turns his head away. Greg turns to follow Sherlock’s gaze and Sherlock turns back to him before he can start to ask questions. “Actually, do you know what? Ignore me.” I laugh.

“Sorry?” Greg asks.

“Ignore all of that. It’s just the, er, the shock talking.” Sherlock says. We start to walk towards John.

“Where’re you two going?” Greg asks us.

“We just need to talk about the-the rent.” I explain.

“But I’ve still got questions for you two.” Greg says in aggravation.

We turn back to him. “Oh, what now? We’re in shock! Look, we’ve got a blanket!” He brandishes the sides of the blanket at Lestrade as if to prove it.

“Sherlock and Calliah!” Greg yells.

“And I just caught you a serial killer ... more or less.” Sherlock says.

Greg looks at him thoughtfully for a moment. “Okay. We’ll bring you two in tomorrow. Off you go.”

We walk away to John. We take the blankets from our shoulders and bundle it up. Sherlock grabs mine and tosses them in the back of a police car, where John was standing. He holds up the police tape and lets me through. He follows me. “Um, Sergeant Donovan’s just been explaining everything, the two pills. Been a dreadful business, hasn’t it? Dreadful.” John says as we walk up.

“Good shot.” Sherlock says softly.

“Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window.” John says, trying to look innocent. I laugh at his utter failure of it.

“Well, you’d know.” Sherlock says. John looks up at him, still trying not to let his expression give him away. He was being unsuccessful. “Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don’t suppose you’d serve time for this, but let’s avoid the court case.” John clears his throat and looks around nervously. I wrap my arms around his arm. He looks down and smiles softly. “Are you all right?” Sherlock asks John.

“Yes, of course I’m all right.” John says.

“Well, you have just killed a man.” Sherlock says.

“Yes, I…” He trails off. Sherlock and I watch him carefully. “That’s true, innit?” He smiles. I lean my head on his arm and chuckle. “But he wasn’t a very nice man.” John finishes.

Sherlock nods in agreement. “No. No, he wasn’t really, was he?” Sherlock says.

“And frankly a bloody awful cabbie.” John adds.

Sherlock chuckles. He turns and starts leading us away. “That’s true. He was a bad cabbie.”

“Should have seen the route he took us to get here!” I exclaime.

John giggles and Sherlock smiles. I start laughing. “Stop! Stop, we can’t giggle or laugh, it’s a crime scene. Stop it!” John says and looks down at her.

“You’re the one who shot him. Don’t blame me.” Sherlock says.

“Keep your voice down!” John says. We walk past Donovan and I frown at her. “Sorry – it’s just, um, nerves, I think.” John says to Donovan.

“Sorry.” Sherlock says to Donovan. I roll my eyes.

John clears his throat as we walk past Donovan. “You were gonna take that damned pill, weren’t you?” He asks Sherlock.

Sherlock looks at him. “Course I wasn’t. Biding my time. Knew you’d turn up.” Sherlock says.

“No you didn’t. It’s how you get your kicks, isn’t it? You risk your life to prove you’re clever.” John says.

“Why would I do that?” Sherlock asks.

“Because you’re an idiot.” I say.

Sherlock smiles. After a little he forces the smile down. “Dinner?”

“Starving.” John says. We turn and start to walk again.

“End of Baker Street, there’s a good Chinese stays open ’til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle.” Sherlock explains.

A car has pulled up and Mycroft gets out. I notice that John is staring at him. I smile. “Sherlock. That’s him. That’s the man I was talking to you about.” John tells Sherlock.

Sherlock looks across at Mycroft. “I know exactly who that is.” He walks closer to him and stops. He looks angrily. John glances round to gauge where the police are.

“So, another case cracked. How very public spirited… though that’s never your motivation, is it?” Mycroft asks Sherlock very pleasantly.

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock asks.

“As ever, I’m concerned about you and Miss Mullen.” Mycroft says. I smile and skip over.

“Aww, you big lug. I never knew you cared.” I joke. He looks down at me and rolls his eyes. I wrap my arms around his and lean my head on his arm. He sighs and looks back at Sherlock and John. They both look at me confused.

“Yes, I’ve been hearing about your ‘concern’.” Sherlock says.

“Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side? Miss Mullen has noticed that.” Mycroft says.

“Oddly enough, no!” Sherlock yells.

“We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer ... and you know how it always upset Mummy.” Mycroft says. I nod. I had talked to mummy Holmes a lot over the years. She and I had a talk every Sunday. We had even met a couple of times. She treated me like another child of her. I think she wanted me to get with Mycroft. I noticed that John had frowned. He was unsure of what he had just head.

“I upset her? Me?” Sherlock asks. Mycroft frowns. “It wasn’t me that upset her, Mycroft.”

“No, no, wait. Mummy? Who’s Mummy?” John asks.

“Mother – our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft, who apparently know Miss Mullen.” Sherlock explains. John looks at Mycroft in amazement. “Putting on weight again?” He asks Mycroft.

“He is losing it, in fact.” I say and frown. Sherlock was trying to get a rise out of Mycroft and I wouldn’t stand for it. Mycroft puts a hand on my hand and pats it. I knew he was proud of me for standing up for him.

“He’s your brother?!” John asks Sherlock.

“Of course he’s my brother.” Sherlock says.

“So he’s not…” John starts.

            “Not what?” Sherlock asks.

We all look at John as he shrugs in embarrassment. “I dunno – criminal mastermind?” He says and grimaces.

I laugh and Sherlock looks at Mycroft disparagingly. “Close enough.”

“For goodness’ sake!” I yell.

“I occupy a minor position in the British government.” Mycroft explains.

“He is the British government, when he’s not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis.” Mycroft and I sigh. “Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic.”

Sherlock walks away. John starts to follow him but turns back to Mycroft, who has turned to watch Sherlock. I smile at him. He was very concerned about Sherlock. I understood that and I thought it was nice. “So, when – when you say you’re concerned about him, you actually are concerned?” John asks.

“Yes, of course.” Mycroft says.

“I mean, it actually is a childish feud?” John asks.

“He’s always been so resentful. You can imagine the Christmas dinners.” Mycroft says, still watching Sherlock.

“I can and still want to come.” I say. Mycroft looks down at me and smiles.

“Maybe this year.” He says.

“Yeah… no. God, no!” John says and half- turns to follow Sherlock. “I-I’d better, um.. Calliah, are you coming?” He asks me.

“Nah. I need some Mycroft time. Don’t wait up.” I tell him.

He nods and turns back to ‘Anthea’. She is on her phone, like always. “Hello again.” He says to her.

She looks up and smiles at him brightly. “Hello.”

“Yes, we-we met earlier on this evening.” He tries to remind her. I laugh softly. She stares at him as if she has never seen him before but reacts as if she is trying to pretend that she remembers him.

“Oh!” ‘Anthea’ says.

“Okay, good night. See you later Calliah.” John says and glances at Mycroft and me. He turns and follows Sherlock.

“Good night, Doctor Watson.” Mycroft says.

‘Anthea’ turns to us as we watch the boys leave. “Sir, shall we go?” She asks Mycroft.

“Interesting, that soldier fellow.” Mycroft says. I roll my eyes. ‘Anthea’ looks briefly at the boys and then turns her attention back to her phone. “He could be the making of my brother – or make him worse than ever.”

“What about me?” I ask him.

“Of you of course will make him worse. Which I am counting on.” He say and smiles. He turns to ‘Anthea’. “Either way, we’d better upgrade their surveillance status. Grade Three Active.”

‘Anthea’ looks up from her phone. “Sorry, sir. Whose status?”

“Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Watson, and this little girl’s.” He says and gets into the car.

“Hey! I’m not a little girl.” I get into the car and pout. He chuckles and puts my legs on his.

“Sure.” He says and rolls his eyes at ‘Anthea’, who had gotten into the car. She laughs and goes back to her phone. “To my house.” He tells the driver.

 


	9. Chapter 9

_It’s been a week since I had met Mycroft. He got me the flat and I was ready to go back to school soon. I had been going back to Mycroft’s house each day. I would meet him in the morning and he would feed me breakfast. We would go to his work and while he worked, I would read, write, or do summer work for school. We would eat lunch in his office and go to his house at six each day. He would feed me dinner and then he would send me home. It was nice to have a route with him. I didn’t know how to thank him. Every time I tried to thank him he would brush it off._

_One morning I was eating breakfast with Mycroft and saw he didn’t have any food. I had never noticed that he never ate breakfast. “Mycroft?” I ask softly._

_“Yes?” Mycroft answers without lifting his head._

_“Why don’t you eat breakfast?” I ask._

_He stops reading his newspaper and looks up, frowning. “It doesn’t concern you Miss Mullen.” He says. He had found out my mother’s maiden name and got my name changed. I was still getting used to being called it._

_“Yeah I know, but isn’t breakfast the most important meal of the day. Isn’t that what you told me when I refused to eat?” I say and smile._

_He frowns at me. “Just eat Miss Mullen.”_

_“Nope.” I cross my arms. “Not till you do. I want you to eat a full English breakfast.” I say._

_He frowns and has a slight fear in his eyes. “No. I do not follow the orders of little girls.” Mycroft says._

_“Not a little girl and I won’t eat till you do.” I say and smirk. I knew he wanted me to get better and to eat so he would have to. He sighs and tells the cooks he would like an English breakfast. I grin and see him frown at me. The cook brings out his breakfast and I smile at the cook. The cook leaves and I see Mycroft looking at his plate with hate. I slowly get up and move over to him. “Mycroft?” I ask softly._

_He looks up at me. “What?” He asks._

_“It won’t bite.” I joke. He frowns more.  “What is it? Why don’t you eat?” I ask and place a hand on his shoulder. He tenses up and sighs._

_“Sit down Miss Mullen. I am about to tell you something only mummy, dad, and myself know.” He says. I nod and sit down. “As a child, I was a fat little kid. The stupid people in my class would make fun of me because of my weight and my intelligence.” He says._

_“Intelligence? What were you a lot smarter than the other kids?” I ask._

_“Of course I was.” He says and rolls his eyes. I laugh. “I was living in a world full of goldfish.” I look at him confused and he shakes his head. “I was deduce people and they wouldn’t like what I told them.”_

_“Deduce? What is that?” I ask._

_“It is where I can notice things about people most people wouldn’t.” He explains._

_“Deduce me.”  I say._

_He sighs. “You won’t like what I have to say.”_

_“I don’t care. I want to see what you know about me.” I say and smile._

_He nods and looks at me for a minute. “You don’t wear any make-up because you really don’t care about what others say, mostly because you don’t care about yourself. You dye your hair sometimes, mostly brown, probably to match your sister’s hair to fit in. You are shorter then Irene and heavier too. People pick on you for your weight even though it is nothing major. Just a little over weight.” He says and looks at me._

_I grin. “Wow.”_

_He frowns at me. “You aren’t mad?”_

_I shake my head. “Why would I be mad? It is all right.”_

_He smiles and pats my hand. “You aren’t fat by the way. Don’t let your sister rule your thoughts.”_

_“Only if you don’t let those stupid goldfish rule yours.” I smile and pick up a piece of bacon off his plate and eat it. He laughs and nods. He picks up his fork and starts eating. From that day, I would sit closer to Mycroft. I trusted him to help me. Of course there were our bad days. When he wouldn’t eat or I would ignore everyone. Those were the days that my sister was in my thoughts. Those were the days that I would cut._

“Mycroft.” I ask.

He looks down at me. “Yes Ardaigh?” He called me Ardaigh which was rose in Irish. My middle name was Róise, which was an Irish name and meant rose. I smile at the term of endearment.

“Does Sherlock comment about your weight a lot?” I ask and frown.

He sighs and wraps his arm around me. “He does it to get a rise out of me.”

“Still, it isn’t right.” I say.

“I know. That is why I want Irene out of your thoughts because what your siblings say can hurt a lot more than what other people say.” He explains.

I nod and snuggle into him. “I won’t let him talk about you that way.” I tell him.

He laughs. “If you can, I will be amazed.” He holds me close. We finally get to his house and ‘Anthea’ gets out. “Time to go inside.”

“I don’t want to move.” I pout.

He sighs. “Are you implying that you want me to carry you?” I nod and grin up at him. “Never going to happen.”

I laugh and get out of the car. “It was worth a shot.” We go into the house. “Have you ate tonight? I text ‘Anthea’ sometimes to make sure you are eating.”

“Oh I know. I did eat. Are you hungry?” He asks.

“No. I’m just tired.” I say and yawn.

“Go to your room then.” He says.

“Yeah no. I can’t. We have movies to watch!” I yell and run to the living room. A couple years back, Mycroft told me he had never seen The Notebook or any real movie. So, I took it as my personal mission to introduce him to all the good movies in the world. I would come over every Saturday and watch movies. He never said anything, but I knew he enjoyed it. I run to the movie cabinet and grab the fifth Harry Potter movie. He sits down on the couch and gets the cook to pop popcorn and bring up drinks. I lays down on the couch with my head in his lap, our usual positions. He starts playing with my hair as the movie starts.

I wake up later. All the lights are out and I feel something under my cheek. I look around and notice I was laying my head on Mycroft’s chest. He must have laid down during the movie and pulled me with him. He did this sometimes. No one but I knew that Mycroft Holmes, the British government, liked to cuddle. I smile and close my eyes. I was still tired. 

 


	10. Chapter 10

I woke up the next morning to the smell of breakfast. I smile and look up. Mycroft was still asleep.  I smile and close my eyes. This was rarity for us. Mycroft was usually up by this time. “Stop thinking.” I hear under me. I look up and see Mycroft looking at me. “You are thinking too much.” He says and plays with my hair.

“Sorry Croft.” I say and sit up and stretch. I get up and go to the bathroom. I needed to get home soon. John was probably worried. I go to the bathroom and go back out. Mycroft is sitting up and looks at me. “I need to go home after breakfast. John will be worried.” I say. He nods and gets up. “I should feel privileged. I get to see Mycroft Holmes in yesterday’s suit.” I walk over and fix his tie. He smiles down at me.

“Yes you should.” He says and runs a hand through my hair. “I usually an up and changed by now.” I nod. He leads me to the kitchen. I sit down in my spot and start eating the pancakes in front of me. I look at Mycroft and see that he is eating oatmeal. We finish and I get up and go over to him. I wrap my arms around him. He pats my arm and looks at me. “I will have ‘Anthea’ take you home.”

I nod. “I will be back soon. I’ll call you.” I ruff up his hair and go to leave. I stop and turn and look at him. “Oh, you will be happy to know that Sherlock is clean and isn’t smoking. He is using nicotine patches.” He nods. I leave and go to the house. I just hope the boys haven’t blown it up.

I go up the stairs and see Sherlock sitting in his chair, reading a book. I look around. “Good. I was hoping you guys wouldn’t ruin the place.” I say and sit on the couch.

He looks up. “How do you know my brother?” He asks.

“He helped me. I helped him.” I say and shrug.

He frowns. “He helped you?” He asks. I knew he wouldn’t believe me, but I didn’t care.

“Sure did.” I get up and walk over to him. “You don’t have to believe me, but you will do one thing.” I lean down and get in his face. “You will not make fun of him anymore about his weight. If you do, I know things that will turn your world on its side.” I stand up and walk back to the couch. I sit down and look at him. He was glaring at me. That made me laugh.

I hear someone coming up the stairs. I turn and see John coming up the stairs with several bags. I rush up and help him. “Let me help.” I say. John nods and gives me a bag.

“Thanks.” He nods to me. I go to the kitchen and see that Sherlock has moved to the kitchen and is on a computer. John and I put down our bags and John looks at the computer. “Is that my computer?” He asks.

“Of course.” Sherlock says and he starts typing.

“What?!” John yells.

“Mine was in the bedroom.” Sherlock explains. I roll my eyes.

“What, and you couldn’t be bothered to get up?” John asks. Sherlock doesn’t reply. “It’s password protected!” John yells indignantly.

“In a manner of speaking. Took me less than a minute to guess yours.” Sherlock says and looks up at John. “Not exactly Fort Knox.”

“Right, thank you.” John says. I can tell he is annoyed. He walks over and slams the lid down as Sherlock pulls his fingers out of the way. John walks over to his arm chair and puts the computer down on the floor. Sherlock clasps his hands in the prayer position in front of his mouth as he props his elbows on the table and looks thoughtful. I sit down back on the couch. John picks up a small pile of letters from the table and frowns. “Oh.” I look over in worry. “He flocks through the letters and shakes his head. “Need to get a job.”

“Oh dull.” Sherlock says.

John puts the letters back on the table and looks to Sherlock. He looks at the letters and awkwardly sits forward. Oh I am going to love this. “Listen, um… if you’d be able to lend me some…” He stops. He looks at me. “He isn’t even listening.” He looks at Sherlock. “Sherlock, are you listening?”

“I need to go to the bank.” Sherlock says and gets up. He heads towards the stairs and grabs his coat and goes down the stairs.

John looks at me. I shrug and get up follow. I hear John jump up and follow.

Sherlock leads us into the foyer of an impressive building. “Yes, when you said we were going to the bank…” We all get on the escalator and I notice that Sherlock was observing everything around us.

We got to the top of the escalator and Sherlock walks over to the reception desk and address one of the receptionists. “Sherlock Holmes.”

We are lead to an office. A man in waiting inside and gets up when we walk in. “Sherlock Holmes.” The man says and grins.

“Sebastian.” Sherlock says.

They shake hands and Sebastian clasps Sherlock’s hand in both of his own. “Howdy, buddy. How long’s it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?” Sebastian asks. Sherlock looks at Sebastian with only marginally disguised dislike. I laugh and Sebastian turns and looks at John and me. He raises his eyebrow and smirks. “Who is this?” He walks forward.

“These are my friends, John Watson and Calliah Mullen.” Sherlock explains.

“Friends?” Sebastian asks.

“Colleague.” John says. Sebastian nods and looks at me.

“I’m his friend.” I say and frown at him. I did not like him.

“Just friend?” He asks. I glare at him. He turns away and John purses his lips. I look at him and frown. “Well, grab a pew. D’you need anything? Coffee, water?” Sebastian asks.

Sherlock and I shakes his head. “No.” John says.

“No?” He turns to his secretary. “We’re all sorted here, thanks.” As the secretary leaves, Sebastian sits down at his desk. Sherlock offers me one of the two chairs and I nod. I sit and John sits in the other chair.

“So, you’re doing well. You’ve been abroad a lot.” Sherlock says.

“Well, some.” Sebastian says and shrugs.

“Flying all the way round the world twice in a month?” Sherlock asks.

John and I look at Sherlock in confusion. Sebastian just laughs and points at Sherlock. “Right. You’re going that thing.” Sebastian looks at John and then me. He winks at me and frown. “We were at uni together. This guy here had a trick he used to do.”

“It’s not a trick.” I tell him.

“He could look at you and tell you your whole life story.” Sebastian explains.

“Yes. I’ve seen him do it.” John says.

“Put the wind up everybody. We hated him.” Sebastian says and laughs. I look up at Sherlock and see that he is looking away. I can see his face momentarily fill with pain. I turn in my seat and takes his hand. He looks at me and nods. “You’d come down to breakfast in the Formal Hall and this freak would know you’d been shagging the previous night.” I turn my head to glare at him.

“What did you call him?” I practically growl.

“I simply observed.” Sherlock says softly and places a hand on my shoulder.

“Go on, enlighten me. Two trips a month, flying all the way around the world – you’re quite right. How could you tell?” He asks. He had a slight fear in his eyes. Good, he was afraid of me. Sherlock goes to answer but Sebastian continues. “You’re gonna tell me there was, um, a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan.” He says smugly. John smiles.

“No, I …” Sherlock tries to say.

“Maybe it was the mud on my shoes!” Sebastian says, talking over him.

Sherlock looks back at him. “I was just chatting with your secretary outside. She told me.” He explains. John frowns at Sherlock.

Sebastian laughs humorlessly and Sherlock smiles back at him with an equal lack of humor. Sebastian claps his hands together, then becomes more serious. “I’m glad you could make it over. We’ve had a break in.” He stands up and leads us across the trading floor towards another door. “Sir William’s office – the bank’s former Chairman. The room’s been left here like some sort of memorial. Someone broke in last night.” Sebastian explains.

“What did they steal?” John asks.

“Nothing. Just left a little message.” Sebastian says.

He holds his security card against the reader by the door to unlock it. Hanging on the plain white wall behind the large desk is a framed painted portrait of a man in a suit – presumably the late Sir William Shad himself. On the wall to the left of the portrait someone has sprayed what looks like a graffiti ‘tag’ in yellow paint. The tag looks vaguely like a number 8 but with the top of the number left open, and above it is an almost horizontal straight line. And across the eyes of the portrait another almost horizontal straight line has been sprayed. Sebastian leads the way towards the desk and then steps aside to allow Sherlock a clear view of the wall. John moves to stand on the other side of Sebastian, who looks at Sherlock expectantly as the detective stares in fixed concentration at the graffiti. We go back to Sebastian’s office after Sherlock looks around. Sebastian shows the boys the security footage of the office. I didn’t care about it so I was sitting in a chair on the other side of the desk. “Sixty seconds apart.” Sebastian explains. “So. Someone came up here in the middle of the night, splashed paint around, and then left within a minute.”

“How many ways into that office.” Sherlock asks.

“Well, that’s where this gets really interesting.” Sebastian says and motions them to follow. He leads us down to the reception area. Again I sat down in a waiting chair. I really don’t care. I don’t know why I was there. After a minute I see Sherlock walk away. I get up and follow him. “Where are we going?” I ask.

“Back to the office.” He says and grabs my hand. As we go up the escalator, he turns to me. “Thank you for standing up for me. It-It means a lot.” He says softly. I nod.

“Any time.” I say.

We get to the office and he takes some photos with his phone. He looks to the right where the floor-to-ceiling window. He frowns and looks away. He walks to the window and pulls up the blonds which are covering what is revealed to be a door onto a small balcony. He opens the door and goes out onto the balcony. He looks down at the drop and bites his lip. He heads back inside. I frown at him and he shakes his head.

He rushes to the trading floor and I follow him. He has ducked down behind a desk and now rises slowly upright, staring in concentration at the glass doorway to Sir William’s office. He then ducks sideways and hurries across the floor, to the bemusement of a trader. Sherlock continues to scamper around the floor, frequently scurrying sideways and ducking down behind desks before popping up again and peering at the doorway. He dances across the floor again and twirls around a column before backing towards an office on the other side of the floor. Stopping in that doorway, he wiggles about, his eyes still fixed on Sir William’s office, then turns and goes into the office and heads to the other side of the desk. Standing directly behind the chair of whoever works in that room, he sees that he has a clear view of the top of the painting and the new yellow slash across the portrait’s eyes. He dances sideways across the room before coming back to his previous position, confirming that this is the only place on the trading floor where the damaged portrait can be seen. Looking around the room for some identification, he eventually goes to the door where two signs are attached to the outside, one showing that this is the office of the Hong Kong Desk Head, and the sign above it giving the name of that person – Edward Van Coon. He slides the top sign out of its holder and heads off. I watch all of this from the side lines. I am laughing at him. He smiles at me and grabs my hand as he walks past. We meet up with John and we go down the escalators.

“Two trips around the world this month. You didn’t ask his secretary; you said that just to irritate him.” John says. Sherlock smiles but doesn’t respond. “How did you know?”

“Did you see his watch?” Sherlock asks.

“His watch?” I ask.

“The time was right but the date was wrong. Said two days ago. Crossed the dateline twice but he didn’t alter it.” Sherlock explains.

“Within a month? How’d you get that part?” John asked.

“New Breitling. Only came out this February.” Sherlock explains.

“Okay. So d’you think we should sniff around here for a bit longer?” John asks.

“Got everything I need to know already, thanks.” Sherlock says.

“Hmmm?” John asks.

“That graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient and ...” Sherlock stops to see if John or I would finish.

“…they’ll lead us to the person who sent it.” I say.

“Obvious.” Sherlock says.

“Well, there’s three hundred people up there. Who was it meant for?” John asks.

“Pillars.” Sherlock simply stats.

“Pillars and the screens. Very few places you can see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night. That tells us a lot.” Sherlock explains.

“Does it?” John asks.

We walk out of the revolving doors and out onto the street. “Traders come to work at all hours. Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. The message was intended for someone who came in at midnight.” He holds up the name card to show John and me. “Not many Van Coons in the phonebook.” He spots something and calls out loud. “Taxi!”

We reach a block of flats and get out of the taxi. Sherlock walks to the door buzzers and presses the one marked ‘Van Coon’ and releases it. He looks into the security camera above the buzzers, waits a couple seconds, then presses the button again. There isn’t a response.

“So what do we do now? Sit here and wait for him to come back?” John asks.

Sherlock looks at the buzzers on the wall and steps back and looks up the front of the building. He comes back to the wall and looks at us triumphantly. “Just moved in.”

“What?” I ask.

“The floor above. New label.” Sherlock explains and pulls me to him. I frown and look at him.

I look at the wall and see that the one of the labels is handwritten and says ‘Wintle’

“Could have just replaced it.” John says.

Sherlock presses that buzzer and looks at John. “No-one ever does that.”

“Hello?” A woman’s voice comes over the intercom. I assume it is Ms. Wintle.

Sherlock turns to the camera and pulls me close to him. “Hi! Um, we live in the flat just below you. I-I don’t think we’ve met.” Sherlock says, his voice a little higher. I smile into the camera.

“No, well, um, I’ve just moved in.” Ms. Wintle says.

Sherlock gives John a ‘told you so’ look and turns back to the camera. “Actually, we’ve just locked our keys in our flat.” He grimaces and bites his lip plaintively.

“He always forgets them. Men right?” I add and roll my eyes.

“Do you want me to buzz you in?” Ms. Wintle asks.

“Yeah. And can we use your balcony?” Sherlock asks.

“What?” Ms. Wintle asks.

We go up to Ms. Wintle’s flat and try to explain that we can drop from her balcony to ours. She agrees to let us use it. Sherlock stands on her balcony and looks over. He climbs over the side of the balcony. I rush over and see that Ms. Wintle’s balcony is only halfway across and the balcony below was full length. “Come on.” Sherlock calls up to me.

“Maybe I should go round.” I suggest.

“Just come on.” Sherlock rolls his eyes.

I slowly climb over the side and drop down. I sigh and check to make sure I didn’t hurt myself. Sherlock is already inside the flat. I get up and follow him into an apartment of a wealthy man, with white leather furniture, shiny black tables and minimal clutter. He looks at everything as he goes through the room, and glances at a pile of books on a table. He walks through the kitchen, looking at the work surface before opening the fridge to reveal that it’s full of nothing other than bottles of champagne. The front door to the flat buzzes. “Sherlock.” John calls through the door. Sherlock and I move into the hall. “Calliah, are you two okay?” I frown and go to open the door. Sherlock stops me and opens the door to a small bathroom. I sit on the couch and frown. “Yeah, any time you feel like letting me in.” I hear John. I hear Sherlock bang down a door. I rush to him and see a man in a suit and overcoat lying on his back on the bed, dead. There is a pistol on the floor, and the man has a small bullet hole in his right temple.

“Oh God.” I say softly.

Later, the police have been called. A photographer is taking pictures of Van Coon’s body lying on the bed. A forensics officer is dusting for fingerprints on the nearby mirror. Sherlock takes his coat off and puts on a pair of latex gloves. John stands beside him.

“D’you think he’d lost a lot of money? I mean, suicide is pretty common among City boys.” John offers up.

“We don’t know that it was suicide.” Sherlock says.

“Come on. The door was locked from the inside; you had to climb down the balcony.” John said.

Sherlock squats down by a suitcase on the floor bear the bed. He flips open the lid and looks at the contents. “Been away three days, judging by the laundry.” Sherlock says.

“Thanks – I’ll take your word for it.” John says.

“Problem?” Sherlock asks.

“Yeah, I’m not desperate to root around some bloke’s dirty underwear.” John says. I laugh and he looks at me.

Sherlock walks to the foot of the bed. “Those symbols at the bank – the graffiti. Why were they put there?”

“What, some sort of code?” John asks.

“Obviously.” Sherlock says and rolls his eyes. Sherlock moves up and carefully opens the man’s jacket to look at his inside pocket. “Why were they painted? If you want to communicate, why not e-mail?”

I look around and let the boys talk. I go out of the room and bump into a man. “Sorry.” I say and smile.

He looks down at me and smile. “It’s alright. Are you with that man? Um, Sherlock?”

“Yeah, I am.” I say and smile.

“Well I should get in there. Death and all.” He says and I nod. I go and sit on the couch. After a little while, the boys and that man come into the living room. “We’re obviously looking at a suicide.” The man says.

“That does seem the only explanation of all the facts.” John says.

Sherlock takes off his gloves and turns his back to the man. “Wrong. It’s one possible explanation of some of the facts.” He turns around to the man. “You’ve got a solution that you like, but you’re choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn’t comply with it.”

“Like?” The man asks.

“The wound was on the right side of his head.” Sherlock says.

“And?” The man asks.

“Van Coon was left-handed.” I say. Sherlock looks at me shocked. I shrugged. I had learn a couple of things from Mycroft.

Sherlock pretends to try and point a gun to his right temple with his left hand. “Requires quite a bit of contortion.”

“Left-handed?” The man asks.

“Oh, I’m amazed you didn’t notice. All you have to do is look around this flat.” Sherlock points to the table beside the sofa. “Coffee table on the left-hand side; coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets: habitually used the ones on the left ... Pen and paper on the left-hand side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took down messages with his left. D’you want me to go on?” Sherlock explains

“No, I think you’ve covered it.” John says tiredly.

“Oh, I might as well; I’m almost at the bottom of the list.” Sherlock says and looks at John and me. I shrug. Sherlock points to the kitchen “There’s a knife on the breadboard with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left.” He turns to the man with an impatient look on his face. “It’s highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head. Conclusion: someone broke in here and murdered him. Only explanation of all the facts.” Sherlock smiles.

“But the gun: why…” the man

“He was waiting for the killer. He’d been threatened.” Sherlock interrupted. He walks away and starts to put his scarf, coat, and gloves on.

“What?” The man asks.

“Today at the bank. Sort of a warning.” John explains.

“He fired a shot when his attacker came in.” Sherlock explain.

“And the bullet?” The man asks. I get up and put on my coat on. I go outside the room to wait for the boys. I was getting bored. I lean against the wall and close my eyes. I’m glad I had some clothes at Mycroft’s. I had put on a pair of jeans and a Harry Potter ravenclaw shirt on. It wasn’t the most fashionable, but it wasn’t my dirty sweats. Sherlock comes out of the room and looks at me. “Come on.” He says and walks off.

We go to a restaurant and walk in. We walk to a table and I notice Sebastian and grimace. “…and he’s left trying to sort of cut his hair with a fork, which of course can never be done!” Sebastian says and laughs.

We walk to the table. “It was a threat. That’s what the graffiti meant.” Sherlock says.

Sebastian looks up and frowns. “I’m kind of in a meeting. Can you make an appointment with my secretary?”

I look around and see Mycroft at one of the tables. I smile and pull on John’s sleeve. He looks over at me and I point to Mycroft. He nods and I walk over to the table. “Hello Croft.” I say and sit. He looks up and smile.

“Calliah.” He nods.

“Why are you here? Are some important people coming to meet you?” I ask.

“No, just felt like having a lunch out. Would you like to join me or do you need to get back to my dear brother?” Mycroft asks.

I look over and see the boys following Sebastian into the men’s bathroom. I look back and smile. “I’m all yours.” He smiles and looks at him menu. “You have better clothes in your closet my dear.” He says softly.

“Are you saying I am dressed ugly Croft?” I ask and fake pout.

He looks up and frowns. “You know I am not.”

I laugh and pick up my menu. “I know Croft. Just giving you a hard time.” A waiter comes and gets our orders. “So did Sherlock tell you about his uni days?” I ask.

He thinks and looks at me. “Not really.” I frown. “We started to drift apart after I went to uni. He thinks I left him. I couldn’t stay in the house any longer. I needed to get out and explore the world but Sherlock didn’t understand.” Mycroft says. I take his hand in mine. He looks up.

“I understand.” I say and smile.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and I look up to see John. “Calliah. We are leaving.”

“Oh you two go ahead. I’m going to have lunch with Croft.” I tell him. I see Sherlock frown but I ignore him. John nods and goes to Sherlock. I turn back to Mycroft and smiles. He smiles back and looks down. “What?”

“No one has ever pick me over Sherlock. I was the cold unmoving one. Sherlock at least showed some compassion. I was nick named the ‘Ice Man’.” Mycroft explains to me.

I frown and move my chair closer to him and place my hand on his arm. “Well I will never call you that.” I say and rest my head on his arm. I feel a slight kiss to my head and he pats my hand. Our food arrives but I don’t move. I sit up and start eating. I feel Mycroft looking at me. He was expecting me to move back, but I definitely wasn’t going to do that. We eat our meal in a comfortable silence. He pays and helps me up. He leads me to the car and helps me in. He gets in after me and puts my legs on his lap. I lay my head on his chest and he wraps his arm around me. We got to Baker Street and I look up at Mycroft. “Thank you for sharing your lunch time with me.” I say and kisses his cheek. He looks at me and nods. I get out and bends down to look into the car. “I will call you later Croft. Don’t do too much damage.” He laughs and I smile. I close the door and rush up to the door. I turn back and wave. I see Mycroft waves and I go into the building. I go upstairs and hear John and Sherlock talking. I go inside and see Sherlock is sitting at the dining table. John is by his chair.

 “Didn’t notice I’d gone out, then.” John says. He picks up a pen from the table beside his chair and, without even looking at Sherlock, tosses the pen in his direction. Sherlock lifts his left hand and catches it without looking away from the photographs on the wall. I laugh at them and how well they worked together. John looks at me and smiles. I nod back at him. John walks over to the mirror to look more closely at the photos. “Yeah, I went to see about a job at that surgery.” John tells us.

“How was it?” I ask.

“It’s great. She’s great.” John says absently. I laugh.

“Who?” Sherlock asks.

“The job.” John says and looks back at him.

“’She’” I tell him.

“…it.” John says.

Sherlock looks at me and I laugh. Sherlock looks at John suspiciously for a moment and then jerks his head to his right. “Here, have a look.” Sherlock tells us.

I walk over to him. “Hmm?” John asks.

John comes to my side and we look at the web page on the open computer. The lead article on the ‘Online News’ page is headlined, ‘Ghostly killer leaves a mystery for the police’. Next to it is a photograph of the bald man, and the article reads:

An intruder who can walk through walls murdered a man in his London apartment last night. Brian Lukis, 41, a freelance journalist from Earl’s Court was found shot in his fourth floor flat but all his doors and windows were locked and there were no apparent signs of a break in. A police spokesman said they are still uncertain how the assailant broke in...

“The intruder who can walk through walls.” John says.

“Happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat; doors locked, windows bolted from the inside – exactly the same as Van Coon.” Sherlock says.

“God. You think…” I ask as John and I straightening up and look at Sherlock.

“He’s killed another one.” Sherlock says. b


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the next part of The Blind Banker.**

**I own nothing, except Calliah**

We ended up at the Scotland Yard, in the man from the crime scene’s office, who I found out was named Dimmock. I sit down in one of the seats. “Brian Lukis, freelance journalist. Murdered in his flat…” Sherlock says and turns his laptop around. “… doors locked from the inside.”

“You’ve gotta admit, it’s similar.” John says.  Dimmock scowls at the computer. “Both men killed by someone who can …” John hesitates. “…walk through solid walls.”

“Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another City suicide?” Dimmock squirms in his seat. Sherlock sighs pointedly. “You have seen the ballistics report, I suppose?”

Dimmock nods. “Mmm.”

“And the shot that killed him: was it fired from his own gun?” Sherlock asks.

“No.” Dimmock asks reluctantly.

“No. So this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel.” Sherlock says. Dimmock looks back at Sherlock silently. Sherlock leans forward over the desk and speaks quietly but intensely into his face. “I’ve just handed you a murder enquiry. Five minutes in his flat.”

 

We get to Lukis’ flat as Sherlock ducks under the police tape at the bottom of the stairs inside the door of the flat. He goes upstairs and Dimmock, John, and me following. We go into the living room and I see an open empty suitcase on the floor. There are books everywhere on the desk and on bookshelves and scattered about on the floor. Several open newspapers are also lying on the floor. Sherlock walks over to the kitchen area and looks through the window at the nearby rooftops of lower buildings. Pushing the net curtain back for a better look, he smirks at us. “Four floors up. That’s why they think they’re safe. Put a chain across the door and bolt it shut; think they’re impregnable.” Sherlock walks into the middle of the room again. “They don’t reckon for one second that there’s another way in.” He turns towards the stairs. I look up and see a skylight.

“I don’t understand.” Dimmock says.

“That should be put onto a shirt.” I say.

John smirks at me.

Sherlock goes out onto the landing. “You’re dealing with a killer who can climb” He hops up on something to get a closer look at the skylight.

“What are you doing?” Dimmock asks.

“He clings to the walls like an insect.” Sherlock says. He unhooks the latch and pushes the window upwards. “That’s how he got in.” He says softly.

“What?!” Dimmock asks.

“Climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in through the skylight.” Sherlock explains.

“You’re not serious! Like Spiderman?” Dimmock asks.

“He scaled six floors of a Docklands apartment building, jumped the balcony to kill Van Coon. “ Sherlock explains.

Dimmock laughs in disbelief. “Oh, ho-hold on!”

“And of course that’s how he got into the bank. He ran along the window ledge and onto the terrace.” Sherlock says. He steps down onto the landing and looks around. “We have to find out what connects these two men.” He looks at the books scattered up the side of the staircase. He jumps down a few stairs and picks up a book. He shuts it after a couple seconds and heads down the stair. I roll my eyes as John and I follow.

 

Sherlock gets us a cab to West Kensington Library. Sherlock leads us inside the library and down some aisle. “Date stamped on the book is the same day that he died.” Sherlock says. He goes to one of the shelves and starts to pull out books and examining them. John and I start to pull some books out on nearby shelves on the other side of the aisle. We see some yellow paint like from the office and smile at each other.

“Sherlock.” I say. Sherlock turns and see what we found. He steps over to us and pull out a handful of books with each hand. We see that spray painted on the back of the shelf are the same two symbols that were sprayed across the office.

 

We go back to 221B. Sherlock puts the photographs of the shelf on the mirror. I sit down on the couch as the boys stand by the fireplace and look at the pictures. I feel my phone go off and fish it out of my pocket. I open the text and smile.

_Having fun with my brother dearest? MH_

I laugh and reply.

_Oh you know it. *insert eye roll* CM_

I set my phone down on my lap and look up at the boys.

“Why did they die, Sherlock?” John asks.

Sherlock runs his fingers over the line painted across Sir William’s face. “Only the cipher can tell us.” Sherlock says. He taps his finger against the photo. He stops for a moment and then rushes out of the room and down the stairs. I sigh as I get up and pocket my phone. I follow John and Sherlock out of our flat.

 

Sherlock leads us to Trafalgar Square. We walk through the center of the square, heading towards the National Gallery.

“The world’s run on codes and ciphers, John. From the million-pound security system at the bank, to the PIN machine you took exception to, cryptography inhabits our every waking moment.” Sherlock says.

“Yes, okay, but ...” John says to get him to continue.

“... but it’s all computer-generated: electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods. This is different. It’s an ancient device. Modern code-breaking methods won’t unravel it.” Sherlock finishes.

“Where are we headed?” John asks.

“I need to ask some advice.” Sherlock says.

John and I stop and stare at Sherlock “What?! Sorry?!” I say and laugh out loud. Mycroft would get a kick out of this.

Sherlock throws a look back as John and I smile in disbelief.

“You heard me perfectly. I’m not saying it again.” Sherlock says.

“Of come on. One more time. I want that as my ring tone.” I joke and smile.

“You need advice?” John asks.

“On painting, yes. I need to talk to an expert.” Sherlock says. He leads us towards the entrance of the National Gallery and straight around it to the rear of the building where a young man has spray-stenciled onto a solid grey metal door the image of a policeman holding a rifle in his hands. The image has a pig’s snout in place of a human nose. A large canvas bag is at the man’s feet and he is holding spray cans in both hands. With one of the cans he has sprayed his tag, “RAZ”, below the image and he is now adding the finishing touches to his ‘artwork’. He continues spraying, unperturbed, as we approach.

“Part of a new exhibition.” The man, who I assumes name is Raz, says.

“Interesting.” Sherlock says, disinterestedly.

“I call it Urban Bloodlust Frenzy.” Raz says and chuckles.

“Catchy.” John says.

“I’ve got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes round that corner.” Raz explains and looks at us. “Can we do this while I’m workin’?” He asks.

Sherlock brings out his phone and holds it out towards Raz. Raz turns around and tosses one of the spray cans at John. John catches it and looks at Sherlock and Raz in bewilderment. Raz takes Sherlock’s phone and scrolls through the photos. “Know the author?” Sherlock asks.

“Recognize the paint. It’s like Michigan; hardcore propellant. I’d say zinc.” Raz tells us.

“What about the symbols: d’you recognize them?” Sherlock asks.

Raz squints at the pictures. “Not even sure it’s a proper language.”

“Two men have been murdered, Raz. Deciphering this is the key to finding out who killed them.” Sherlock says.

“What, and this is all you’ve got to go on? It’s hardly much, now, is it?” Raz asks.

“Are you gonna help us or not?” I ask.

“I’ll ask around.” Raz nods and says.

“Somebody must know something about it.” Sherlock says more to himself then anyone.

“Oi!” I hear and we all look round and see two Community Support Officers hurrying towards us. Sherlock grabs his phone and my hand. He runs the opposite way and drags me behind.

We run quite a distance and stop. I take my hand back and catch my breath. “You left John!” I yell.

“Hmm? Oh he will fine.” Sherlock says and looks around.

“He will not! He will be taken to the police office!” I yell. Sherlock shrugs and starts walking. “Where are you going?”  I ask,

“Home.” He says and doesn’t stop. I groan and follow. I would have to talk to Mycroft to get John off the hook.

 

Sherlock is standing at the fireplace. The mirror is almost covered with some more sheets of paper with various ciphers and pictograms on them. He was reading a book. I was laying on the couch waiting for John to return. The door in the kitchen door slams close and I look up to see John coming into the living room.

“You’ve been a while.” Sherlock says, without turn round or looking up from the book.

John walks a few paces into the room, and I notice his shoulders rigid and his fist clenched. He was not happy. He stops and turns to Sherlock. “Yeah, well, you know how it is. Custody sergeants don’t really like to be hurried, do they?” John say tightly. He starts pacing with an angry half-smile half-grimace on his face. “Just formalities: fingerprints, charge sheet; and I’ve gotta be in Magistrates Court on Tuesday.”

“What?” Sherlock asks.

“Me, Sherlock, in court on Tuesday. They’re givin’ me an ASBO!” John yells agrily.

“I will get Mycroft to drop it.” I say but the boys ignore me. I frown and stand up.

“Good. Fine.” Sherlock says, not paying attention.

“You wanna tell your little pal he’s welcome to go and own up any time.” John says tightly.

Sherlock slams his book shut. “This symbol: I still can’t place it.” Sherlock says and turns and puts the book down. He walks over to John who has just started to take his jacket off, and pulls the jacket back onto his shoulders. “No, I need you to go to the police station with Calliah.” Sherlock turns him around and steers him towards the door.

“Oh no. I have work tonight.” I grab my coat and look at my watch. I still had two hours till my shift, but I knew whatever Sherlock was planning would take too long.

Sherlock growls at me and rolls his eyes. “Ask about the journalist.” He tells John.

“Oh, Jesus!” John says exasperated.

Sherlock grabs his own coat from the back of the door. “His personal effects will have been impounded. Get hold of his diary, or something that will tell us his movements.” Sherlock says. We all go downstairs and out onto the street. I button my jacket and smile at the boys.

“Bye boys. See you tomorrow.” I say and start walking. If they heard me, I don’t know and I don’t care. I needed a break.

 

I get off later that night and text John to see where they were. I knew Sherlock wouldn’t answer. I get a reply:

_At the National Antiquities Museum. JW_

I get there and meet up with John and Sherlock. “Miss anything?” I ask.

“Too much to explain.” Sherlock says and frowns at me. Was he mad that I went to work or something?

He leads us to the restoration room, where a women was doing something I couldn’t see. Sherlock steps up beside her. “Fancy a biscuit with that?” He asks. Before he finishes the sentence she gasps in fright and turns towards him, the teapot dropping from her terrified fingers. Sherlock reacts instantly and bends his knees to reach down and catches the teapot before it hits the floor. He looks up at him. “Centuries old. Don’t wanna break that.” He slowly straightens up and hands the teapot back to her. As she takes it, he reaches out and flicks a switch on the desk, turning on the light underneath the surface. He smiles slightly at her. “Hello.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the next part of The Blind Banker.**

**I own nothing, except Calliah**

John and I go to the table and sit on the stools on the opposite side of the table as the woman is. Sherlock stands at the end of the table. “Who is she?” I ask John softly.

“Soo Lin.” He explains.

I nods, even though that meant nothing to me.

“You say the cipher. Then you know he is coming for me.” Soo Lin says.

“You’ve been clever to avoid him so far.” Sherlock comments.

“I had to finish… to finish this work. It’s only a matter of time. I know he will find me.” Soo Lin tells us.

“Who is he? Have you met him before?” Sherlock ask.

Soo Lin nods. “When I was a girl, living in China. I recognize his…’signature’.” She says.

“The cipher.” Sherlock says.

“Only he would do this. Zhi Zhu.” She says.

“Zhi Zhu?” John asks.

“The spider.” Sherlock translates.

Soo Lin puts her right foot up on her opposite knee and unlaces her shoe and takes it off. On the underside of her heel is a black tattoo of a lotus flower inside a circle. “Do you know this mark?” She asks us.

“Yes. It’s the mark of a Tong.” Sherlock says.

“Hmm?” John asks.

“Ancient crime syndicate based in China.” Sherlock explains.

John and I nod in understand and turn back to Soo Lin. “Every foot solider bears the mark; everyone who hauls for them.

“’Hauls’?” John asks. Soo Lin looks up at John and his eyes widen. “Y-You mean you were a smuggler?”

Soo Lin looks down and puts her shoe back on. “I was fifteen. My parents were dead. I had no livelihood; no way of surviving day to day except to work for the bosses.” She explains to us. I understood her predicament. I get up and walk over to her and take her hand. She smiles softly at me and I do the same.

“Who are they?” Sherlock asks.

“They are called the Black Lotus. By the time I was sixteen, I was taking thousands of pounds’ worth of drugs across the border into Hong Kong. But I managed to leave that life behind me. I came to England.” She says and smiles a little. “They gave me a job here. Everything was good; a new life.”

“Then he came looking for you.” Sherlock says.

“Yes.” She swallows and continues tearfully. I rub her arm and frown. “I had hoped after five years maybe they would have forgotten me, but they never really let you leave. A small community like ours – they are never very far away.” She wipes tears from her face. “He came to my flat. He asked me to help him to track down something that was stolen.”

“And you’ve no idea what it was?” John asks.

“I refuse to help.” Soo Lin tells us.

John leans forward. “So you knew him well when you were living back in China?” He asks.

“Oh yes.” She says and looks up at Sherlock. “He’s my brother. Two orphans. We had no choice. We could work for the Black Lotus, or starve on the streets like beggars. My brother has become their puppet, in the power of the one they call Shan – the Black Lotus general. I turned my brother away. He said I had betrayed him. Next day I came to work and the cipher was waiting.” Soo Lin explains to us.

“Can you decipher these?” Sherlock asks.

Soo Lin leans forward and points to the mark beside Sir William’s portrait. “These are numbers.”

“Yes, I know.” Sherlock says.

Soo Lin points to another photo. “Here: the line across the man’s eyes – it’s the Chinese number one.”

Sherlock points to the first photo. “And this one is fifteen. But what’s the code?” Sherlock asks.

“All the smuggler know it. It’s based upon a book…” Soo Lin says. Just then, almost all the lights go out. Soo Lin looks up in dread. Sherlock straightens up and looks around sharply. “He’s here. Zhi Zhu. He has found me.” She says softly, her face full of terror.

Sherlock races across the room and John calls to him softly but urgently. “Sh-Shelock. Sherlock, wait!” Sherlock charges out of the room. John turns to Soo Lin and me and grabs our hands. “Come here.” He leads up to a cupboard and opens the doors. “Get in. Get in!” We all get in. We wait and then hear gunfire. John turns to us. “I have to go and help. Bolt the door after me.” He runs off and Soo Lin’s face fills with dead. I hold her. After a couple minutes, we slowly crawl out of our hiding place. On the desk, paperwork is fluttering in a slight breeze. We crawls to the edge of the table and peers over the top of it before slowly standing up. Soo Lin turns around and I follow her. We see a Chinese man behind us. Soo Lin greets him.

“亮” [Liang.] She says. She hesitates for a moment. “大哥” [Big brother.] She reaches out and cups his face with her hand. I grab her hand and stare at her brother. “请你” [Please ...] She begs. He pulls out a gun and Soo Lin starts to sob. I rush forward and grab his arm and try to get the gun. He pushes me off him and I hit my head on the floor. I try to get up as my sight turns black.

I wake up at the hospital and sit up. I see Mycroft sitting by my bed. “Croft. What happened?” I ask.

“You hit your head. I am your contact so they called.” He looks at me and frowns. “Almost gave me a heart attack.”

I frown and sit up. “I’m sorry Croft. I had to try and save Soo Lin.” He nods in understand. “Where is she? Did she get away?”

He frowns more. “No I’m sorry Ardaigh.” I frown as my phone goes off. It was a text from John.

_We are on our way to the hospital. Meet us in the morgue? JW_

I reply:

_Of course. CM_

I get up and grab my clothes. I put on my jeans and take off the hospital gown and put on my shirt. I didn’t get embarrassed changing in front of Mycroft. He had seen the worst of me. “Where are you going?” He asks me.

“The boys are coming here to the morgue. I need to help in any way I can.” I tell him. He walks over to me and lifts my head to look at him.

“I think you should lay down in the bed and heal all the way but I know you won’t.” Mycroft says and smiles softly.

I smile and hug him. “You know me so well.” He chuckles and kisses my head.

“Now go before I change my mind and chain you to the bed.” He says and lets me go.

I look up at him. “No we can do that later.” I wink and run off.

I get down to the morgue and see Molly with Sherlock, John, and Dimmock. John looks back and smiles at me. “How are you feeling?” He asks.

“Fine. Mycroft was up there and wouldn’t have let me leave if I wasn’t fine.” I tell him. I see Sherlock look over and frown at the mention of Mycroft. I roll my eyes. Those boys need to get over their fight.

            Sherlock looks at Molly. “We’re just interested in the feet.” He tells her.

“The feet?” Molly asks and frowns.

“Yes. D’you mind if we have a look at them?” He asks and smiles at her.

I lean over to John. “How did Sherlock get Molly to do this?”

“I think he flirted with her.” He answers.

I frown. I knew Sherlock wasn’t interested in her but he knew that she would do anything he asked if he asked it with flirting. He was going to get a mouthful when we got home.

Dimmock and Sherlock were looking at second body now. “So either these two men just happened to visit the same Chinese tattoo parlour or I’m telling the truth.” Sherlock says.

Dimmock sighs in resignation. “What do you want?” He asks.

“I want every book from Lukis’ apartment and Van Coon’s.” Sherlock says.

“The books?” Dimmock asks.

Later we get to 221B. We take off our coats and John sits in his chair. Sherlock remains standing and I lay on the couch.

“Not just a criminal organization; it’s a cult. Her brother was corrupted by one of its leader.” I hear Sherlock say as I fall asleep.

A while later I hear some people coming in and out of the room. I sit up and see crates all around our living room. I stand up and look around. “What the hell?!” I yell. Sherlock and John look at me.

“Sleeping beauty is awake.” John says and smiles.

“Well beauty is not adjective I would use to describe her.” Sherlock says and looks around. “So, the numbers are references.” I frown and roll my eyes.

John smiles apologetic at me and then looks at Sherlock. “To the books?”

“To specific pages and specific words on those pages.” Sherlock explains.

“Right, so … fifteen and one: that means …” John says, trying to figure out what Sherlock was saying.

I sit down and grab my phone.

_Pick me up? CM_

I get a reply a minute later.

_On my way. Two minutes. MH_

I get up and go to my room and grab my phone charger and some comfy clothes. I needed some time away from the boys. I leave my room and grab my coat. “Mycroft never texts.” I hear Sherlock say behind me.

“He does for me.” I tell him as I get my coat on.

“What makes you so special? You are just as boring as anyone from the street below. Why would Mycroft choose to spend time with you?” Sherlock ask.

I clench my fists and turn around and storm to Sherlock. “I am not boring! If you got to know me, you would know that I am a ton of fun. I listen to your brother, I get him out of his shell, and he helps me. He is better than you in every way!” I yell and storm towards the door. I stop and go back to him. “And another thing! Don’t flirt with Molly just to get something. It is one of the worst things to do and I won’t have you doing that to one of my best friends!” I slap him and storm down the stairs. I slam the door and get into the car that is waiting outside. I move into Mycroft’s arms and rest my head on his chest and cry softly. He just rubs my back and tells the driver to go to his house.

I took a shower once we got to Mycroft’s house to calm me down. I go out to the living room and see Mycroft on the couch in silk pajamas and a blanket. He pats the couch and I rush over. I sit by him and bring my legs up onto his lap. He wraps a blanket around me and him and grabs the remote. He hits play and the beginning of Harry Potter starts. I smile and snuggle into him.

At the end of the movie, I get up and stretch. Mycroft stays sitting and I sit back down. “What happened?” He asks.

I sigh and lean forward and put my chin in my hands. I tell him what happened and sit back. “It just all got to me. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t rely on you this much, but if stayed I would have beat your brother.”

Mycroft moves me to his lap and wraps his arms around me. “Ardaigh. I am here for you at all times. Sherlock was wrong about it all. You aren’t boring and you are beautiful.” He says and kisses my head. I sigh and shrug.

I have always been told I was not beautiful. Mycroft knew that I had problems with my looks and helped me a lot to accept myself, just like I did with him. One time he caught me trying to cut my fat off my body. If he hadn’t been there, I would have died.

Mycroft rubs my back. “Want to get some ice cream from that shop down the street. Then we can come back here or do anything you like.”

I smile up at him. “I would love that.” I say and get up. “Let me go get changed.” I say and run out of the room. Mycroft made me want to be a better person for myself and I wanted to show that. I look in my closet to see what I had here. ‘Anthea’ made sure I had some nice clothes here if I wanted to use them. I look through the closet and find a maroon dress with lace over it. The sleeves were three quarter sleeves and it feel down to my mid-thigh. I smiled. I was going to make him take me out to dinner. I deserve it. I pair it with a nice black heeled boot, purple drop ear rings, a purple necklace, and a black clutch. I do my makeup light and throw my hair half up and down. I look at myself in the mirror and smile. Mycroft wouldn’t know what hit him. (To see the outfit go here: <http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=145321132>­) 

I walk out and down to the living room. Mycroft turns around and mouth drops open. I laugh and walk over to him. “You can catch flies that way Croft.” I say and closes his mouth.

“Ardaigh, you look amazing.” He says softly.

“Well, after ice cream, you sir are taking me to dinner. I deserve a night out.” I tell him.

He nods and offers me his arm. I take it and he leads me to the car. We go to the ice cream parlor and get our usual booth. We order our ice cream, strawberry for Mycroft and mint for me. We talk about unimportant things till our ice cream showed up. We eat in comfortable silence. I look up to see that Mycroft was looking at me. He smiles. “You have a little something…” He says softly and leans over. He wipes some ice cream off my upper brow but keeps his hand on my cheek. He looks down at my lips quickly and my heart beat speeds up. Was he going to kiss me? I wouldn’t mind. Mycroft was very attractive and I would be lying if I never thought about him in that way.  He starts to lean in and I lean in too. We were a second away from kissing when my phone goes off. We both jump and look down. I grab my phone and see a new text:

_Come back to the flat. Now. It is important. SH_

I glare at my phone and look up at Mycroft. He is looking at me. “Sherlock?” He asks. I nod and he holds his hand out for my phone. I give it to him and as our hands touch, I feel my heart beating even faster. I take my hand back and look down. He reads the text. “Okay let’s go.” He gets up and sets my phone down on the table. I frown and get out of the booth. I grab my phone and follow him. He leads me to the car and opens the door for me. I get in and he follows. He tells the driver 221 Baker Street. I frown. I didn’t care about Sherlock right now. I look at Mycroft and see that he is staring straight ahead. I look down and we drive in uncomfortable silence. We hadn’t had this happen since I met him. I didn’t like it. We get to the flat and I look at Mycroft.

“Croft?” I ask softly.

“Go Miss Mullen.” He says and doesn’t even look at me. I frown and get out of the car. I rush to the house, tears coming to my eyes. I go upstairs and wipes my eyes before I walk in. I go into the flat and see Sherlock sitting in his chair.

“What do you want Sherlock?” I ask slightly angrily.

He looks up and looks shocked. “Why are you dressed like that?” He asks.

“It doesn’t matter. What do you want?” I ask. I just wanted to go to my room and cry.

“We are going out tonight. What you are wearing is fine.” Sherlock says.

“Oh no! You didn’t make me leave what I was doing to go out with you! Where is John?” I ask.

“He is on his date. We will meet up with him.” Sherlock says and gets up and grabs his coat. He grabs my hand and goes down the stairs. I try to get out of his grip but he isn’t budging.

“Let me go!” I yell but it is useless. He gets a taxi and pushes me into it. He gets in and tells the driver the address. I sit on the other side as far as possible and frown. He ruined what could have been one of the best nights of my life to go out with him to replace John. Mycroft didn’t even give me a choice. He just decided that I would be going home. I would rather be having dinner or not having dinner with him right now. We get out of the car and go into the building. I am standing away from Sherlock. I see John up ahead at the ticket booth with a woman. At least he was happy tonight.

“Actually, I have four in that name.” I hear the manager tell John.

“No, I don’t think. We only booked two.” John tries to explain.

“And then I phoned back and got two more. One for me and one for Calliah.” Sherlock says behind John. John looks back at us in disbelief. Sherlock offers the woman his hand. “I’m Sherlock.” He says. The woman shakes his hand. “And this is Calliah.” He says and looks to me. I nod at the woman.

“Er, hi. I’m Sarah.” She tells me and nods at me. I nod back. “I’m going to the loo.” She says and walks to the loo.

The boys go to the steps and go off to the side. “You couldn’t let me have just one night off?” John asks Sherlock.

“Yellow Dragon Circus, in London for one day. It fits. The Tong sent an assassin to England…” Sherlock explains.

“…dressed as a tightrope walker. Come on, Sherlock, behave!” John yells. He looks at me and I frown and shrug. He looks at what I was wearing and I shake my head.

“We’re looking for a killer who can climb, who can shin up a rope. Where else would you find that level of dexterity? Exit visas are scarce in China. They need a pretty good reason to get out of that country. Now, all I need to do is have a quick look round the place ...” Sherlock explains.

“Fine. You do that; I’m gonna take Sarah for a pint.” John says.

“I need your help.” Sherlock says sternly.

“You have Calliah!” John offers up.

“Do not bring me into this. I want to be here far less than you do.” I say and glare at Sherlock, who ignores me.

“Well,” John says and turns back to Sherlock. “I do have a couple of other things on my mind this evening!”

“Like what?” Sherlock ask.

I smirk, at least there was a little of entertainment.

John looks at him in disbelief. “You are kidding.”

“What’s so important?” Sherlock asks.

“Sherlock, I’m right in the middle of a date. D’you want me to chase some killer while I’m trying to ...” John breaks off.

“What?” Sherlock asks.

“... while I’m trying to get off with Sarah!” John yells a little loud. Inevitably Sarah comes around the corner at that moment. John turns to her and smiles awkwardly. “Heyyy.” Rolling his eyes, Sherlock turns and heads up the stairs, pulling me along.

We get to the performance area. There’s a stage on one side of the large hall and the curtains are closed. However, it seems that the stage is not going to be used: a circle of candles has been laid out in the middle of the floor, about thirty feet in diameter. The room is dimly lit. The patrons are gathering around the circle but there are no seats. Apparently the number of tickets has been limited and there’s room for everyone to stand around the circle with a clear view. Sarah and John stand side by side while Sherlock and I stands behind them, Sherlock with his back to them, looking all around the room and peering up to the ceiling. John talks quietly over his shoulder to us, turning his head away from Sarah so that she can’t hear. “You said circus. This is not a circus. Look at the size of this crowd. Sherlock, this is ...” He grimaces with distaste. “... art.”

“This is not his day job.” Sherlock says quietly over his shoulder.

“No, sorry, I forgot. They’re not a circus; there’re a gang of international smugglers.” John says.

The performance begins with someone tapping out a rhythm on a tiny hand drum. Sherlock turns to face the same way as his companions and John looks over his shoulder at him. Sherlock quirks an eyebrow at him. An ornately costumed Chinese woman with a heavily painted face – traditionally known as the Opera Singer – walks into the center of the circle and looks imperiously out at the audience before raising a hand in the air. The drummer finishes his riff. The Opera Singer walks across the circle to a large object covered with a cloth which she now pulls back to reveal an antique-looking crossbow on a stand. She picks up a long thick wooden arrow with white feathers at one end and a vicious metal point at the other and shows it to the audience before fitting it into place in the crossbow. Straightening up, she pulls a single small white feather from her headdress and again shows it to the audience. On the rear of the crossbow is a small metal cup and she gently drops the feather into it. Instantly the arrow is released and whizzes across the room. Sherlock’s head whips around to follow its flight while John, Sarah, and I are still gasping at the sound of the arrow’s release. By the time they look round a moment later, the arrow is embedded in a large painted board on the other side of the circle. Sarah turns to John and laughs, dramatically putting her hand over her heart.

Instrumental music begins, and the audience applauds as a new character enters the circle, wearing chainmail and an ornate head mask. He holds his arms out to the sides and two men come over and start to attach heavy chains and straps to him, strapping his now-folded arms in front of him and then backing him up against the board and starting to chain him to it.

“Classic Chinese escapology act.” Sherlock says softly.

John, Sarah, and I look at him. “Hmm?” John asks.

“The crossbow’s on a delicate string. The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires.” Sherlock explains.

The Opera Singer loads another arrow into the crossbow. The men attach more padlocks and chains and one of them pulls a chain tight, yanking the warrior’s head back against the board. The warrior cries out. The men loop the chains through solid rings attached to the board and secure the warrior, who cries out again. Once they’ve finished, they step away. The music begins building in intensity and cymbals crash unexpectedly. Sarah jumps, clutching at John’s arm.

“Oh, Gaud! I’m sorry.” I hear her tell John. I smile softly at them and see that she keeps holding onto John’s arm.

The Opera Singer picks up a small knife and displays it to the audience.

“She splits the sandbag; the sand pours out; gradually the weight lowers into the bowl.” Sherlock says softly.

The Opera Singer does just what Sherlock predicted – she reaches up to a small sandbag hanging on a long cable and stabs the knife into the bottom of the sack. Sand begins to pour out, and the warrior repeatedly cries out with effort as he tugs at his chains. The sandbag’s cable is looped over a pulley and a metal ball is attached to the other end. As the sand continues to pour out of the bag the weight lowers towards the bowl at the back of the crossbow. The warrior gets one hand free. We turn to look at the warrior as he gets his other hand free and starts tugging at the chains around his neck. The weight is now only a few feet above the bowl and I notice Sarah clings tightly to John’s arm, grimacing. The warrior cries out again as he pulls at his chains and the weight gets ever closer. As it almost reaches the lip of the bowl the warrior loosens the chains around his neck and struggles to free himself. The weight touches the bowl and the arrow streaks across the room. With a split second to spare, the warrior pulls free of the chains and ducks down and the arrow thuds into the board. The warrior cries out triumphantly as the audience begins to applaud. I hear Sarah gasps in relief.

The warrior stands up and takes the applause. Still clapping, John looks over his shoulder at us, and frowns. I look over to see what Sherlock was doing but Sherlock has vanished. John looks at me and I frown. We start looking around the hall but can’t see him anywhere.

In the performance area, the Opera Singer raises a hand to halt the audience’s applause.

“Ladies and gentlemen, from the distant moonlight shores of the Yangtze River, we present for your pleasure the deadly Chinese bird-spider.” The opera singer says.

As she walks away, a masked acrobat descends from the ceiling, rolling through the air as the broad red band wrapped around his waist unravels. The audience applauds and he stops a couple of feet above the ground, holding his body parallel to the floor. Descending to the floor, the acrobat removes the band from around his waist and splits it, revealing that it’s made up of two strips of material which he now wraps around his arms and then runs around the circle before taking his weight on the bands, lifting into the air and flying around in a circle several feet above the ground, the red bands soaring out behind him. We all stare up open-mouthed.

We are watching the acrobat. On the other side of the circle, the closed curtains on the stage begin to billow in one particular place. I frown at the curtains for a moment but is then distracted back to the acrobat. Outside, the acrobat does a dramatic roll down the bands. The audience applauds.

Sherlock comes flying out onto the floor a few feet below. Crashing onto his back, he struggles to get upright again but is too winded and can’t move much as a warrior comes flying out of the curtains and onto the floor in front of him. John and I run towards the warrior as he raises a knife and prepares to plunge it downwards. John charges straight into him, pushing him back against the edge of the stage but the warrior lashes out with one foot, sending John stumbling across the room. I rush at the back of the warrior and jump onto his back. The warrior throws me off his back and onto mine. He comes at me with his knife. As he raises the sword above his head, his concentration focused on delivering the killing blow to me at his feet, Sarah slams one end of the arrow over the top of the warrior’s head. He cries out in pain and before he can react or retaliate she swings the arrow sideways and smashes it across his ribs. She instantly delivers a second blow to the same area and he falls to the ground, grunting and almost unconscious. I smile and get up. “Woah.” I say as she straightens up. Sherlock sits up and leans forward to the warrior’s right foot, pulling off his shoe to reveal a Tong tattoo on his heel. I frown and see that John has grabbed Sarah’s hand and starts to pull her to the exit. I follow as Sherlock picks up the end.

“Come on.” John says almost voicelessly.

Sherlock races ahead of us. “Come on! Let’s go!” He yells.

We go to the Scotland Yard. We follow Dimmock into the office. I sit down with Sarah as the boys talk. “Are you okay?” I ask. She nods and smiles softly. I get up and go outside the office. I take my phone out of my clutch and dial Mycroft’s number. I almost died tonight and knew I needed to talk to him. He doesn’t answer and I tear up. “Cr-Mycroft.” I say softly into the phone. “I need you.” I say softly and then end the call. I wipe my tears and go back into the office as Dimmock says “I gave the order for a raid. Please tell me I’ll have something to show for it – other than a massive bill for overtime.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the next part of The Blind Banker.**

**I own nothing, except Calliah**

We go back to 221B and Sherlock leads us inside. He goes to the fireplace and looks at the photos as he takes off his coat. I go and lay on the couch. I was pissed at Sherlock still, confused with Mycroft, and sad. I turn to the back and curl up.

“They’ll be back in China by tomorrow.” John says.

“No, they won’t leave without what they came for. We need to find their hide-out: the rendezvous.” I hear Sherlock moving around. “Somewhere in this message it must tell us.”

“Well, I think perhaps I should leave you to it.” Sarah asks.

“No, no you don’t have to go…” John says. He turns to Sherlock. “does she?” John asks Sherlock. He turns to Sarah. “You can stay.”

Sherlock says at the same time. “Yes, it would be better to study if you left now.”

I laugh softly and sit up. “He’s kidding. Please stay if you’d like.” John tells Sarah.

“Is it just me, or is anyone else starving?” Sarah asks and tries to smile in a friendly approach.

Sherlock sighs. “Ooh, God.”

Sherlock sits at the dining table with is covered with photos, notes, and drawings of various pictograms. I stand on the wall behind Sherlock’s chair to get a view of everyone and Sarah stands nearby Sherlock, looking at all the pictures stuck to the mirror. John is in the kitchen opens the fridge and sighs. I’m guessing he found something he didn’t want to find.

“So this is what you do, you and John. You solve puzzles for a living.” Sarah asks.

“Calliah helps too.” Sherlock says and looks at me. He frowns when he sees that I am frowning. He looks back down at the photos. “Consulting detective.” He says to Sarah.

“Oh.” She says.

John moves to the cupboard. He sniffs something and recoils. “Oh!” He puts it back and continues on searching.

Sarah walks over to Sherlock and looks over his shoulder. She points to the paper he’s looking at. “What are these squiggles?” She asks.

I notice that Sherlock is trying not to kill her and looks up. “They’re numbers. An ancient Chinese dialect.” Sherlock says, he doesn’t look round still.

“Oh, right! Yeah, well, of course I should have known that.” Sarah says and smiles. I roll my eyes. I did not care for this girl all that much.

John has found a bag of Wotsits and is emptying them into a bowl. I see Mrs. Hudson come in and start talking to John. She had a tray covered with a tea towel. She puts the tray on the table and takes off the tea towel. I see them talking and then turn my attention to Sherlock and Sarah.

I see that Sherlock is thinking about how to kill Sarah and where to put the body. I see Sarah pick up the photo of the brick wall. Sherlock glares at her in utter fury and turns his head away, his teeth bared.

“So these numbers – it’s a cipher.” Sarah tries to understand what Sherlock was doing and was totally oblivious to this rage.

“Exactly.” Sherlock says tightly.

“And each pair of numbers is a word” Sarah goes on.

Sherlock lifts his head slowly.  “How did you know that?” He turns and meets her eyes.

“Well, two words have already been translated, here.” Sarah says and puts the photo down on the desk and points. Sherlock takes the photo from her and stares at it.

“John.” Sherlock calls out.

“Mmm?” John says and looks around from the kitchen table.

Sherlock stands up. “John, look at this.” He takes the photo out of the evidence bag as John comes out of the kitchen. “Soo Lin at the museum – she started to translate the code for us. We didn’t see it!” The boys looks at the photo. “’NINE’’MILL’” Sherlock reads out.

“Does that mean ‘millions’?” John asks, squinting at the photo.

“Nine million quid. For what?” Sherlock asks thoughtfully. He turns and goes over to where he dumped his coat and scarf. “We need to know the end of this sentence.”

“Where are you going?” John asks.

Sherlock puts his coat on. “To the museum; to the restoration room.” He grimace. “Oh, we must have been staring right at it!”

“At-at what?” John asks.

“The book, John. The book – the key to cracking the cipher!” He brandishes the photo at John. “Soo Lin used it to do this! Whilst we were running around the gallery, she started to translate the code. It must be on her desk.” He says and rushes out of the flat.

John and Sarah go to the kitchen. “Calliah, do you want to join us?” John asks me. I shrug and go into the kitchen and go to the freezer. I get out the tub of ice cream I had hidden in the back out and sits down. I start eating. They both just look at me. John looked worried and Sarah just was looking at me. John sits down by me and smiles. Sarah stands nearby.

“Yeah! No, absolutely. I mean, well, a quite night in’s just-just what the doctor ordered.” Sarah says.

“Ha-ha-ha.” John says softly.

“Er, I mean, I’d love to go out of an evening and wrestle a few Chinese gangsters, you know, generally, but a girl can get too much.” Sarah says. I roll my eyes.

John giggles and nods. “No, okay.” They smile at each other, then she looks away, laughing in embarrassment. “Hmm… um, shall we get a takeaway?” John asks us.

“Yeah!” Sarah says. I shrug as John nods and gets up to find a menu. He goes and orders the food.

“So are you and Sherlock a couple?” Sarah sits down by me and looks at me.

“Nope.” I say with a mouth full of ice cream.

She takes off her jacket and nods. “I just thought since you two went to the show together and you are dressed like that.”

I look down and relies I was still in my dress for Mycroft. I frown and eat more ice cream. “No. This wasn’t for him. It was for someone else.”

John comes back and picks up the jug of punch and starts filling some glasses. Someone knocks on the front door downstairs and John look at us. “Ooh, blimey, that was quick. I’ll just pop down.” He hands us a glass as he walks to the kitchen door.

“Do you want me to lay the table?” Sarah asks.

I get up and put my ice cream away. “Um, eat off trays?” I head John ask.

“Yeah.” Sarah says.

“Yeah!” John says and goes downstairs. I stand by the wall and close my eyes. After a minute I hear something heavy fall. I frown and go out to the stairs and see that John is passed out. I frown as a man looks up at us. He smiles and starts coming up the stairs. I hurry inside and shut the door.

“What is it?” Sarah asks me.

“Hide.” I tell her as I push her to Sherlock’s room. She starts asking me questions as I push. “Shut up.” The kitchen door opens and I shut Sherlock’s door on her face. I turn around and see the man standing there. I frown and rush forward to try and get something to hit him with. He grabs my waist and throws me over his shoulder. I scream and bang on his back. “Let me go!” I keep yelling. He moves me so he can reach my head and puts his gun on my head and knocks me out.

I regain consciousness as I look around. We were somewhere dark. A fire is burning in a dustbin. I have a gag in my mouth and see John sitting in a chair looking at me. “’A book is like a magic garden carried in your pocket’.” The voice of the opera singer says. I look around and see that we are in an abandoned tunnel. There are two Chinese men standing behind the woman. She moves to John and looks down at him. “Chinese proverb, Mr. Holmes.”

John looks at her startled. “I… I’m not Sherlock Holmes.”

“Forgive me if I do not take your word for it.” The opera singer says. She reaches down and pulls his jacket open, rummaging in the inside pocket.

“Ow. Ow.” John says.

She takes out his wallet, opens it and takes something out. “Debit card, name of S. Holmes.” The singer says. I frown and look at John confused. Why did he have Sherlock’s card.

“Yes; that’s not actually mine. He lent that to me.” John tries to explain.

The singer gets something else out of the wallet. “A cheque for five thousand pounds made out in the man of Mr. Sherlock Holmes.” I groan. Oh John.

“Yeah, he gave me that to look after.” John says.

“Tickets from the theatre, collected by you, name of Holmes.” The singer says.

“Yes, okay.” John says. “I realize what this looks like, but I’m not him.”

I try to tell her that he isn’t but it comes out muffled.

“We heard it from your own mouth.” The singer says.

“What?” John asks confused.

“’I am Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone...’” the singer repeats what I assume John had said.

“Did I really say that?” John asks and chuckles weakly, then lowers his head in pain. “I s’ppose there’s no use me trying to persuade you I was doing an impression.”

The singer raises a small pistol and points it at John’s head. John cringes away from it, blowing out a panicked breath. I start to try and get out of the chair.

“I am Shan.” The singer, Shan, says.

John looks up at her. “You’re… you’re Shan?” John ask.

“Three times we tried to kill you and your companion, Mr. Holmes. What does it tell you when an assassin cannot shoot straight?” Shan asks. She lifts her hand and cocks the pistol. John cringes back, turning his head away. He is struggling against his bonds. Shan looks down at him. John breaths out heavily as her finger tightens on the rigger. John stares into the barrel of the gun, his face full of terror as she pulls the trigger all the way. I scream as the gun clicks. John grunts in shock, and Shan smiles smugly. “It tells you that they’re not really trying.” John breathes heavily, trying to get control of himself. I keep trying to get off my bonds or the gag. Shan slides a clip into the pistol and then cocks it again before pointing it at John’s head a second time. John cringes away from it. “Not black bullet now.” Shan says.

“Okay.” John says breathily.

“If we wanted to kill you, Mr. Holmes, we would have done it by now. We just wanted to make you inquisitive.” Shan looks at him sternly. “Do you have it?”

“Do I have what?” John asks.

“The treasure.” Shan says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” John says.

“I would prefer to make certain.” Shan looks at her men, one of whom now pulls the cover off the large object to reveal the crossbow which was used at the circus. An arrow is already loaded in it. John stares at it and sighs deeply. Shan turns back to him. “Everything in the West has its price; and the price for her life ...” John turns and stares at me. “... information.” The two men walk over and pick up my chair. I cry out through the gag as the carry to towards the crossbow.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” John says in anguished.

The men set my chair down on the other side of the crossbow, putting the arrow tip directly in front of me. I stare at it, trying not to cry, and tugging at the ropes tying me to the chair.

Shan glares down at John. “Where’s the hair pin?”

John is tugging at his own bonds in spite of the pistol aimed at him. “What?”

“The Empress pin valued at nine million sterling. We already had a buyer in the West; and then one of our people was greedy. He took it, brought it back to London and you, Mr. Holmes, have been searching.” Shan explains.

“Please. Please, listen to me. I’m not ... I’m not Sherlock Holmes. You have to believe me. I haven’t found whatever it is you’re looking for.” John tries to explain.

“I need a volunteer from the audience!” Shan says loudly.

“No, please. Please.” John says desperately.

“Ah, thank you, lady. Yes, you’ll do very nicely.” Shan says and she walks towards me. I glare at her and tug on the ropes again.

Shan smiles, takes out a knife and reaches up to the sandbag suspended over a pulley handing from the ceiling. She stabs the knife into the bag and sand beings to pour out. I finally get my gag off and I stop tugging at the ropes. I see John sigh out an appalled breath and stare up at the bag in horror. I look at John and he looks at me. “Tell Sherlock that he is a git but he better never give this stuff up. His mind needs to be used.” I yell to know and feel some tears slip down my face. “Tell Mycroft that… that he is the most important in my life and that he meant so much to me.” I sniffle and John nods. “Tell Molly for being one of my best friends. Tell her that she was one of my rocks in the past years.” I close my eyes and smile softly. “John. You have been a light in my dark world. I know we haven’t know each other for a long time but you made my days better.” I let out a sob and watch Shan walk over and place a black origami lotus flower on my lap. I glare at her through my tears.

“I’m not Sherlock Holmes!” John says frantically.

“I don’t believe you.” Shan says.

“You should, you know.” I hear Sherlock say behind me. I let out a breath and close my eyes and looks at John. Shan spins around to look. “Sherlock Holmes is nothing at all like him.” I see Shan raise her pistol, cocks it and aims it towards him. “How would you describe me, John? Calliah? Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?”

“Late.” John says tetchily.

 “That’s a semi-automatic. If you fire it, the bullet will travel at over a thousand metres per second.” Sherlock explains

“Well?” Shan asks.

“Well ...” Sherlock says. I hear someone collapse to the ground. “the radius curvature of these walls is nearly four metres. If you miss, the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone. Might even bounce off the tunnel and hit you.” I hear something fall over and sigh. I feel someone behind and I look behind to see Sherlock. I smile in relief. He starts to untie, then it stops. I hear Sherlock cry out and I look back and then back at the arrow. I look up at the sandbag, which just passed the counterbalance weight on its way down. I feel Sherlock untying my bonds again for a minute. John struggles to stand and manages to stumble forward a couple of paces, half-carrying and half-dragging the chair with him, before he loses his balance and falls onto his side. I frown and close my eyes. I knew I was going to die. A part of me was okay with this. Mycroft wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore. John and Sherlock didn’t need the extra weight carrying them down. I never helped with the cases. I hear the arrow go off but nothing hits me. I open my eyes and see that the crossbow is facing up and I head a groan. I see that John has moved. He must have hit it up. I start to sob in shock and see Sherlock drop down beside me. “It’s all right.” Sherlock says soothingly. “You’re gonna be all right. It’s over now. It’s over.” He rubs my arm comfortingly and bends down to untie my ropes. I look at John and he smiles wearily at me. I smile back. Sherlock straightens up and stands behind me. He puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

Later, the police have arrived to clear up the mess. John puts his arm around my shoulders and walk away. “You okay?”

I nod. “I just want to go home.” I say softly and feel another arm on my shoulder. I look up and see Sherlock. He smiles at me and the boys lead me away.

We are back at the house. I am sitting in Sherlock’s chair, a blanket on me. I was in comfy clothes now and watching the boys in the kitchen. Sarah had called John to see if he was alright and he told her he was and that their next date wouldn’t be like this one. John was sitting at the table which Sherlock stands next to him and pours a mug of tea. “Ta.” John says. He looks at the translated message. “So, ‘nine mill’…” John says.

Sherlock pours two more cups of tea. He brings one to me. “Million.” He tells John. I smile up at him softly.

“Million, yes; ‘Nine million for jade pin. Dragon den, black Tramway’.” John tries to understand.

“An instruction to all their London operatives.” Sherlock explains.

“Mmm.” John says.

“A message; what they were trying to reclaim.” Sherlock says.

“What, a jade pin?” John asks.

“Worth nine million pounds. Bring it to the Tramway, their London hideout.” Sherlock explains.

“Hang on: a hairpin worth nine million pounds?” John asks.

“Apparently.”   Sherlock says.

“Why so much?” John asks.

“Depends who owned it.” Sherlock says and smiles.

The boys left later and I opted to stay home. They didn’t want me to but I didn’t want to run all over London again. I go to my room and lay down on my bed. I had texted and called Mycroft a couple times but he was ignoring me. I started to cry. I didn’t want him to leave me. He was my best friend and my rock. I needed him in my life. I reach into my bed side table drawer and bring out a little scalpel. No one knew that I had this. I didn’t use it a lot any more, only when I needed to get away from my demons. I lift my top and move my pants down a little so I could see my hip. I lay down and cut a long line onto my hip. I sigh and close my eyes. I let the relief wash over me. I hear someone come into the living room and I jump up. The boys shouldn’t be home yet. I put my scalpel away and move my clothes back in their right position. I rush out to the living room and see Mycroft standing in the middle of the room.

I smile. “Croft!” I call out and rush to him. He opens his arms and I go into them. “You came.” I say softly. He rubs my back.

“Of course. You might have chosen Sherlock but I still care about you.” Mycroft explains.

I look. “I didn’t choose Sherlock. You didn’t let me tell you that I wanted to stay.” I say and frown.

He frowns and I can see him thinking back. “Oh.” He simply says. I laugh and hug him. “So you are alright? Not hurt?” He asks and holds me out to look at me.

“I’m okay Croft.” I tell him.

“You are bleeding.” He says looking at my hip.

“Shit.” I say softly. He moves my pants away and sees the cut.

“Calliah. What is this?” He asks and frowns.

“Um, I just cut myself on something.” I lie. He frowns and looks at me. I knew that he didn’t believe me. “I had to take away the pain.” I say softly and look down. He puts my pants right and hugs me.

“You know if you feel like that, you can come to me.” He says.

I push him away. “I tried! You were ignoring me!” I yell at him.

He frowns. “Well I thought you choose Sherlock!” He yells back.

“Because you wouldn’t let me explain! For a smart man you are quite dull about people sometimes!” I yell. He sighs and nods. I lead him to the couch and sit by him. “I told you. I will chose you each time. Trust me Croft.”

“I know I do Ardaigh.” He says. I smile at the term of endearment. I move to his lap and cuddle into him. He smiles at me and kisses my head. “Want to come over and watch the next movie?” He asks.

“No, I want to stay here. The boys will be worried if I was gone. We can watch TV here. I stole a pair of your pajamas so there is a pair if you want them.” I say. He laughs and nods. I get up and head to my room. I hear him follow me. We get to my room and I get out a new set of comfy clothes and a set of silk pajamas. I hand the pajamas to Mycroft and I get changed. He changes and fold his clothes and sets them on my bed. He leaves the room and I go to follow him. I stop and steal his tie. I wrap it around my wrist and smile. I go to him and see that he is sitting on the couch. I grab the remote and move to his lap. He looks at me and I just smile. I turn the TV on and start flipping channels. I notice that Doctor who is on so I stop at that one. I cuddle into Mycroft and smile as he starts talking with my hair. After a half-hour I was asleep.

“What is he doing here?” I hear. I keep my eyes close and cuddle into Mycroft’s chest.

“Shh Sherlock. They are sleeping.” I hear John say.

“He doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t do this. Not with any one.” Sherlock says. I open my eyes and see that the boys were standing by the table and looking at us. “Ah she wakes.” I look down and see that Mycroft laid down and placed me on the side of him. I’m just happy that I haven’t fallen off the couch. I had my back to him and we were laying on our sides. Mycroft had an arm draped over me. I turn my head and see that he is still sleeping. I slowly get up and cover up Mycroft.

“He does do this and sleeps. He does it with me.” I tell him. I lean down and kiss Mycroft’s forehead lightly. I stand up and cover him and turn to the boys. Sherlock’s face was a mixed between anger, confusion, and amazement. “He is sleeping so go away.” I tell them. John nods and tells me goodnight. I turn to Sherlock and he still have that look on his face. “What?”

“Why you? How do you get him to act like that? You are a no body. I mean-“ Sherlock starts to say till he is slapped by me. “What?” He asks.

“You are such a pompous git! I can’t believe that Molly has a crush on you? I can’t even stand to be in your presents sometime!” I yell. I feel a hand on my shoulder and I look around angrily. “What?!” I yell. I see Mycroft and I calm down. “Oh Croft. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head and wraps an arm around me. He looks at Sherlock. “It doesn’t matter why I like hanging out with Calliah. I do and you will accept that. She is a great girl and the sooner you understand that the better. Come on Calliah. We can sleep in your room.” He leads me to my room and let me get into bed. He follows me and gets in behind me. He wraps one arm around me and puts the other on under my head. I smile and turn around so I was looking into his chest. “Don’t listen to him Ardaigh.”

“I’m trying not to. He just doesn’t understand.” I say. I feel Mycroft nod and I close my eyes. Soon I am back asleep.

I wake up the next morning in an empty bed. I frown and see that Mycroft has left the pajamas here and I smile. He will come over again. I look at my wrist and see that his tie is still around my wrist. I see a note on the side table and I pick it up.

_Ardaigh,_

_I had to go off this morning. Call me later and we will have that dinner._

_MH_

_P.S. You are lucky that isn’t have favorite tie._

I smirk and put the note back on my side table. I walk out and go to the kitchen and start to look for food. Sherlock is sitting at the dining table and John is sitting opposite him. Sherlock is looking at the front page of the Sunday Express. I sit down with a bowl of cereal. John looks at me and smile. I smile back. Sherlock fold the paper in half, puts it down and picks up another newspaper.

“Over a thousand years old and it’s sitting on her bedside table every night.” John says.

“He didn’t know its value; didn’t know why they were chasing him.” Sherlock says.

“Hmm. Should’ve just got her a lucky cat.” John says and smiles. Sherlock smiles at his briefly and then looks away.

“Hmm.” Sherlock simply says. His gaze becomes distant. John and I look at him closely.

“You mind, don’t you?” John asks.

Sherlock looks at us. “What?”

“That she escaped – General Shan It’s not enough that we got her two henchmen.” I say.

“It must be a vast network, John and Calliah; thousands of operatives. We barely scratched the surface.” Sherlock explains.

“You cracked the code, though, Sherlock; and maybe Dimmock can track down all of them now that he knows it.” John says.

“No. No. I cracked this code; all the smugglers have to do is pick up another book.” Sherlock says.

He opens his newspaper and lifts it, beginning to read. John’s eyes drift over to the window. I look at my bowl and eat my cereal. I’m started to like living here with the boys. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the Great Game.**

**I own nothing, except Calliah**

I get woken up to the sound of gun shots. I rush to the living room with a gun and see Sherlock lying slumped in his armchair with his head resting on the low back of the chair. He closes his eyes briefly, then opens them and gazes up towards the ceiling. Sherlock turns and looks at the sofa and I see that he is He is wearing sleepwear and a blue dressing gown and his feet are bare. Above the sofa I see is a smiley face has been spray-painted on the wallpaper. I frown. Mrs. Hudson would not like that. The can is standing on the coffee table in front of the sofa. I hear the downstairs door close. Sherlock sighs, turns his head to the front again and then raises his left hand which is holding a pistol. He points the pistol towards the smiley face and – without even looking in that direction – fires two shots at it. I jump and roll my eyes. I go back to my room and hide my gun. Mycroft gave it to me for dangerous situations. If I didn’t put it away, I would be tempted to shot Sherlock.

I go back down and see John has come up. “Bored!” Sherlock yells. He jumps out of his chair and John recoils and covers his ears with hands.

“No…” John says.

Sherlock switches the pistol to his right hand and turns towards the smiley face, firing at it again. He then swings his arm around his back, twists slightly to his right and fires at the wall again from behind his back. “Bored! Bored!” Sherlock yells angrily. As he brings his arm back around, John hurries into the room and Sherlock continues to glare at the smiley face but allows John to snatch the pistol from his hand. John quickly slides the clip out of the gun as Sherlock walks towards the sofa. I smile at John and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t know what’s got into the criminal classes. Good job I’m not one of them.” Sherlock says sulkily.

John locks the pistol away in a small safe on the dining table and straightens up. “So you take it on the wall.”

Sherlock runs his fingers along the painted smile. “Ah, the wall had it coming.” Sherlock says. He turns sideways and dramatically flops down onto the sofa on his back, his head landing on a cushion at one end and his feet digging into the arm of the sofa at the end nearest the windows.

John takes off his coat and looks at him. “What about that Russian case?”

Sherlock pushes with his feet to shove himself further along the sofa and into a slightly more upright position, and then starts kneading the arm of the sofa with his toes. “Belarus. Open and shut domestic murder. Not worth my time.”

I move and sit on Sherlock’s armchair. “Ah, shame.” John says sarcastically. He walks into the kitchen and throws his arms up in despair at the mess on the table which greets him. He heads towards the fridge. “Anything in? I’m starving.” He opens the fridge door. “Oh, f…” I hear him say. He slams the door shut again. He slumps against the door for a moment, his head lowered, then he straightens up and opens the fridge door again. He stares inside for a couple of seconds, then quietly closes the door again. “It’s a head.” He turns and calls out. “A severed head!” I frown and look at Sherlock. How did he get a severed head?

“Just tea for me, thanks.” Sherlock says.

John walks back into the living room. “No, there’s a severed head in the fridge.”

“Yes.” Sherlock says calming.

“A bloody head!” John says.

“Well, where else was I supposed to put it?” Sherlock asks stroppily. He looks around at John. “You don’t mind, do you?” John holds his hands out despairingly and looks back towards the fridge. “I got it from Bart’s morgue.” Sherlock explains. John buries his head in one hand. “I’m measuring the coagulation of saliva after death.” He explains. I shrug. Makes sense. Sherlock waves his hand vaguely in the direction of a nearby laptop. “I see you’ve written up the taxi driver case.”

John throws a last glance at the fridge. “Uh, yes.” He says and sits in his armchair.

“’A Study in Pink.’ Nice.” Sherlock says.

“Well, you know, pink lady, pink case, and pink phone – there was a lot of pink. Did you like it?” John says. Sherlock has picked up a magazine from the coffee table and he now flips it open and addresses his answer to the pages.

“Erm, no” Sherlock says.

“Why not? I thought you’d be flattered.

Sherlock lowering the magazine and glaring at him. “Flattered?” He raises his index fingers and narrates a section of the blog. “’Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What’s incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things.’”

“Now hang on a minute. I didn’t mean that in a…” John tries to explain.

“Oh, you meant ‘spectacularly ignorant’ in a nice way. Look, it doesn’t matter to me who’s Prime Minister…” Sherlock says.

“We know.” John says softly.

“… or who’s sleeping with who…” Sherlock continues.

“Whether the Earth goes round the Sun…” I say softly.

“Not that again. It’s not important.” Sherlock claims.

“Not imor…” John starts to say. He shift his position in the chair to face Sherlock. “It’s primary school stuff. How can you not know that?”

Sherlock presses the heels of his palms to his eyes. “Well, if I ever did, I’ve deleted it.”

“’Deleted it?’” John asks.

Sherlock swings his leg around to the floor and sits up to face John. “Listen.” He points to his head with one finger. “This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful … really useful.” He grimaces. “Ordinary people fill her head with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?”

John and I look at him for a moment. “But it’s the solar system!” I call out.

Sherlock briefly buries his head in his hands. “Oh, hell! What does that matter?!” He looks at us in frustration. “So we go round the Sun! If we went round the Moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn’t make any difference. All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots.” He ruffles his hair with both hands, then glares at us. “Put that in your blog. Or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world.” Petulantly shoving the magazine across the coffee table, he lies down on the sofa again, turning over with his back to John and pulling his dressing gown around him while curling up into a ball. John looks away and purses his lips. The front door downstairs opens and closes. John stands up and walks towards the living room door. Sherlock looks over his shoulder. “Where are you going?”

“Out. I need some air.” John says tightly and puts his jacket on. He heads for the stairs which Mrs. Hudson is coming up. “’Scuse me, Mrs…”

“Oh, sorry, love!” Mrs. Hudson says.

“Sorry.” John says.

Sherlock turns his face away again, pulling the cushion under his head nearer to the back of the sofa and curling up even tighter. Mrs. Hudson chuckles at John as he passes her but then turns and looks at him in concern as he hurries down the stairs. She comes to the living room door and knocks. “Ooh-ooh!” She says. Sherlock stretches his legs out straight and turns his head enough to acknowledge her existence, but then looks away again. Mrs.  Hudson carries a couple of shopping bags into the kitchen. I get up and help her. “Have you two had a little domestic?” I see Sherlock look out of the left-hand window. “Ooh, it’s a bit nippy out there. He should have wrapped himself up a bit more.” I nods at her words.

“Look at that, Mrs. Hudson.” He scans the street. “Quite, calm, peaceful.” He grimaces and drags in a long breath. “Isn’t it hateful?”

Mrs. Hudson and I unload some items from the shopping bags and now brandish a receipt at Sherlock before putting it down on the kitchen table. “Oh, I’m sure something’ll turn up, Sherlock. A nice murder – that’ll cheer you up.” She chuckles slightly as she carries her bags towards the living room door. I follow and sit on John’s armchair arm.

“Can’t come too soon.” Sherlock says wistfully.

Mrs. Hudson stops as she spots the damaged wall. “Hey. What’ve you done to my bloody wall?!” Sherlock quirks a smile and turns around to admire his handiwork. “I’m putting this on your rent, young man!”

She storms off down the stairs. Sherlock moves to the middle of the room and grins over-dramatically at the bullet-riddled smiley face, then sighs and turns his head to the front just as a massive explosion goes off in the street behind him. The windows blow in and the blast hurls him forward and to the floor. I fall off the armchair and hit my head on the floor. I hear Sherlock groan as I pass out.

The next day I was sitting on Mycroft in John’s chair. Sherlock was plucking the strings of his violin he is holding on his chest and glares at Mycroft. I glare back. I had a slight cut on my forehead from the explosion and I had sprained my wrist from falling on it. “Sherlock. Calliah!” I hear John calling up the stairs as he runs up. He busts in and looks for us. He see that the boarded-up windows and then looks at us.

Sherlock looks up at John. “John.” Mycroft and I look at John.

“I saw it on the telly. Are you two okay?” He asks Sherlock and me.

“Hmm? What?” Sherlock asks. He looks around at the mess of broken glass and scattered paperwork as if he had forgotten it. “Oh, yeah. Fine. Gas leak, apparently.” Sherlock say.

John looks at me and see my cut. “Oh I am fine John. It was a minor cut.” I tell him.

“You also got a sprained wrist.” Mycroft adds. I frown and looks at him. He smiles and picks up my wrist and kisses it lightly.

“I can’t.” I hear Sherlock say. I look over at him and see him looking at Mycroft in fury.

“’Can’t’?” Mycroft asks.

“The stuff I’ve got on is just too big. I can’t spare the time.” Sherlock says.

John and I look at him in disbelief.

“Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance.” Mycroft explains.

Sherlock flicks his fingers across the strings. “How’s the diet?”

I glare at Sherlock and am about to get up. Mycroft holds me to him and shakes his head. I sigh and nod. “Fine. Perhaps you can get through to him, John.”

John has walked to the windows to investigate the damage. “What?”

“I’m afraid my brother can be very intransigent.” Mycroft explains.

“If you’re so keen, why don’t you investigate it?” Sherlock asks.

“No-no-no-no-no. I can’t possibly be away from the office for any length of time – not with the Korean elections so …” He tails off as John turns towards him in surprise and Sherlock raises his head from looking at his violin. I giggle into his chest. “Well, you don’t need to know about that, do you?” He smiles humorlessly in a clear message to forget what he just said. “Besides, a case like this – it requires ...” He grimaces in distaste “... legwork.” I laugh harder into his chest.

Sherlock mis-plucks one of his strings, an irritated look on his face. I look at him as he turns to John. “How’s Sarah, John? How was the lilo?”

Mycroft consults his pocket watch and doesn’t even looking at John. “Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa.” He says and smiles at me. I smile and look at John.

“Oh yes, of course.” Sherlock says.

“How…? Oh, never mind.” He says incredulously. He sits down on the coffee table. Mycroft smiles at him.

“Sherlock’s business seems to be coming since you, he, and this little girl became… pals.” Mycroft says. I pout at him as Sherlock throws him a dark look. “What’s he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine.” I nod and smiles down at me.

“I’m never bored.” John offers up.

Mycroft smiles condescendingly at John. “Good! That’s good, isn’t it?” He asks me. I nod. Mycroft pats my back and I get up. He gets up as Sherlock picks up his bow and whips one end through the air in front of him. Picking up a folder which he had put on the table beside him, Mycroft steps forward and offers the folder to his brother but Sherlock just looks back at him stubbornly. Grimacing and poking his tongue into the corner of his mouth, Mycroft turns and offers the folder to John instead. “Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends.” Looking startled, John takes the folder. “A civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in.”

“Jumped in front of a train?” John asks.

“Seem the logical assumption.” Mycroft says.

“But…?” John says and quirking a brief smile.

“’But’?” Mycroft asks.

“Well, you wouldn’t be here if it was just an accident.” John explains.

Sherlock smirks noisily.

“The M.O.D. is working on a new missile defence system – the Bruce-Partington Programme, it’s called.” He looks at Sherlock as John starts flicking through the folder. “The plans for it were on a memory stick.”

John sniggers quietly. “That wasn’t very cleaver.” John says.

“It’s not the only copy.” Mycroft explains.

“Oh.” John says.

“But it is secret. And missing.” Mycroft says.

“Top secret?” John asks.

“Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can’t possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands.” Mycroft says. He turns back to his brother. “You’ve got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don’t make me order you.”

Sherlock breathe in sharply through his nose and raises his violin to his shoulder, getting ready to play. He looks calmly at Mycroft. “I’d like to see you try.”

Mycroft leans down to Sherlock to attempt to look more threatening. “Think it over.” Sherlock stares back at Mycroft, unimpressed. Mycroft turns to me. I go to him and hug him. “Bye Calliah. I will call later about the plans.” I nod and feel him give me a kiss on my head.

 Mycroft turns and walks over to John, offering him his hand to shake. "Goodbye John gets up to shake Mycroft's hand. Mycroft smiles at him. "See you very soon." John tries to not look nervous. I laugh as Mycroft heads towards the door. Sherlock begins to repeatedly play a short irritating sequence of notes. John and I frown at him but Sherlock keeps playing till Mycroft has left the flat. Sherlock lowers the violin, still looking annoyed. He looks at me. I look back and frown.

"Why do you have to be such a git to him?" I ask.

"I'm not. He is the git." Sherlock says and sets the violin on the ground.

"You are a git. He is trying to help you. He is giving you something to do. I told him that you had nothing. Do you know that he could get one of his workers to go out and do this?" I ask, almost yelling.

"Yeah, why did you lie?" John asks. Sherlock looks at John. I sit back down in John's armchair and play with the tie around my wrist. "You've got nothing on – not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?"

Sherlock shrugs. "Why shouldn't I?"

"Because he is busy and didn't have to come here to ask." I say.

"Oh he would have come anyways. His precious Calliah was hurt." He says. I frown and roll my eyes. He was acting like a child.

"Oh!" John says. I look at him as he nod. "Oh, I see. Sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere." Sherlock turns and opens his mouth, but before he does his phone starts ringing. He fishes his phone out of his jacket pocket.

"Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock says into his phone. His expression intensifies after a minute. "Of course. How could I refuse?" Sherlock stands up and ends the call. He heads for the door. "Lestrade. I've been summoned. Coming?" He asks us.

"If you want me to come." John says.

"Of course." Sherlock says. He turns to me.

"Of you want me to come?" I ask.

"Of course." He says and picks up his coat. He turns back to us. "I'd be lost without my blogger and rose." He says and leaves. We look at each other and follow him.

We get into the taxi. "How am I your rose?" I turn to Sherlock.

"Your middle name is Róise. It is rose in Irish." Sherlock states. I just look at him and turn forward. I have no idea how he figured out my middle name and I didn't want to know.

We get to Scotland Yard and go inside. Greg meets up and takes us to his office. "You like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones." Greg asks Sherlock.

"Obviously." Sherlock states.

"You'll love this. That explosion…" Greg starts.

Sherlock and I glare at Donovan as we pass by. "Gas leak, yes?" Sherlock asks.

"No." Greg says and smiles.

"No?" I ask.

"No. Made to look like one." Greg explains.

"What?" John asks. We get to Greg's office and we all stop. Sherlock looks down at a white envelope lying on the desk.

"Hardly anything left of the place except a strong box – a very strong box and inside it was this." Greg explains and points to the envelope.

"You haven't opened it?" Sherlock ask.

"It's addressed to you, isn't it?" Greg says. Sherlock reaches towards the envelope. "We've X-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped."

"How reassuring." Sherlock says, hesitating slightly. He picks up the envelope and takes it across the room to another table which has an angle poise lamp on it. He examines it. "Nice stationery. Bohemian."

"What?" Greg asks.

"From the Czech Republic. No fingerprints?" Sherlock asks.

"No." Greg says.

Sherlock looks closer to the envelope. "She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duofold – iridium nib." Sherlock explains.

"'She'?" John asks.

"Obviously." Sherlock says.

"Obviously." John and I say at the same time and look at each other, rolling our eyes. We look back to Sherlock. Sherlock has picked up a letter opener from the desk and is carefully slits the envelope open. He looks inside and looks surprised. He reaches in takes out a pink iPhone. "But that's – that's the phone, the pink phone." John says shocked.

"What, from the Study in Pink?" Greg asks.

"Well, obviously it's not the same phone but it's supposed to look like…" He stops and faces him. Donovan has come into the room and set some files down on a desk near the door. "The Study in Pink? You read his blog?"

"Course I read his blog! We all do. D'you you really not know that the Earth goes round the sun?" Greg asks. I hear Donovan snigger and Sherlock and I glare at her. She leaves the room and Sherlock and I turn and look at the phone.

"It isn't the same phone. This one's brand new." He looks at the phone. "Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone, which means your blog has a far wider readership." Sherlock throws an accusatory look at John, who ignores him. Sherlock looks at the phone and turns it on. It immediately gets a voice alert.

"You have one new message." The phone says. The message plays but there is no voice – just the sound of the Greenwich Time Signal. There are only four short pops and the longer one.

"Is that it?" John asks.

"No. That's not it." Sherlock says. Greg walks over and he and Sherlock look at the phone.

"What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!" Greg yells.

Sherlock is gazing into the distance. "It's a warning."

"A warning?" I ask.

"Some secret societies use to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips. They're warning us it's going to happen again." Sherlock explains. He briefly looks down at the photo, and then brandishes the phone at us as he starts to leave the office. "And I've seen this place before."

John and I follow him. "H-hang on. What's gonna happen again?" John asks.

Sherlock turns back and raises his hands dramatically. "Boom!" He heads off with the three of us following.

We go to Baker street and get out. Sherlock unlocks the front door and leads the way inside, bypassing the stairs and heading along the corridor towards Mrs. Hudson's front door. Just as he reaches it he stops and turns to the left where there is another door which must lead to a basement flat. Numbers and letters stuck on the door read, "221c". Sherlock turns his head and calls out loudly towards his landlady's front door. "Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock yells out.

Mrs. Hudson opens her door and hands Sherlock a set of keys. Sherlock looks at the padlock to 221C. "You had a look, didn't you, Sherlock, when you first came to see the flat."

"The door's been opened recently." Sherlock says.

"No, can't be. That's the only key." Mrs. Hudson says. Sherlock pulls the padlock off and puts another key into the keyhole. "I can't get anyone interested in this flat. It's the damp, I expect. That's the curse of basements." Sherlock turns the key and pulls the door open. He immediately goes inside and John, Greg, and I follow, taking little or no notice of Mrs. Hudson as she continues rambling on. "I had a place once when I was first married. Black mould all up the walls ..." Greg shuts the door behind him. We go to the bottom of the stairs and Sherlock slowly pushes the doors open t o the living room. The room looks exactly as it did in the photograph on the phone with one exception: there is a pair of trainers placed neatly in the middle of the floor, their toes pointed towards the door. John stops and looks at them before stating the bleedin' obvious. "Shoes." Sherlock starts to walk towards them but John holds out a cautionary hand towards him. "He's a bomber, remember."  
Sherlock stops for a moment, and then continues slowly towards the trainers. He crouches down, then puts his hands on the floor and leans forward. Lowering his body down he moves closer to the shoes and, just as his nose is almost touching them, a phone rings. Sherlock jumps, closes his eyes momentarily and then stands up. I laugh as he pulls off his glove and takes the pink iPhone from his coat pocket and looks at the phone. He pauses for a second, and then answers the phone.

"Hello?" Sherlock says softly. "Who's talking? Why are you crying?" Sherlock listens and gazes into the distance thoughtfully. "The curtain rises."

"What?" John asks.

"Nothing." Sherlock says.

"No, what did you mean." I demand.

Sherlock half turns his head towards him. "I've been expecting this for some time." Sherlock explains. Sherlock moves the phone off of his ear and grabs the shoe. "We need to take a trip to Molly."

We get to St Bart's and we are in one of the labs. I am sitting at the one of the tables, doing some work. Sherlock was looking at the shoe with a microscope and John was walking around. I don't pay attention till I see John pulling Sherlock's phone out of his jacket. I laugh softly. "Text from your brother." John tells Sherlock.

"Delete it." Sherlock says. I roll my eyes.

"Delete it?" John asks.

"Missile plans are out of the country now. Nothing we can do about it." Sherlock says.

"Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He's texted you eight times. Must be important." John tries to explain.

Sherlock raises his head in exasperation. "Then why didn't he cancel his dental appointment?" Sherlock asks.

John sighs tiredly. "His what?"

"Mycroft never texts if he can talk. Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story. The only mystery is this: why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?" Sherlock explains.

"Croft texts me all the time." I tell him.

"Well aren't you so special." Sherlock says sarcastically and looks back into the microscope. I roll my eyes and go back to my work.

I look up to see Molly come in. We smile at each other. "Any luck?" She asks Sherlock.

"Oh, yes!" Sherlock says triumphantly.

Molly goes over to look at the screen, as a man comes in. He was wearing slacks and a t-shirt. He stops apologetically. "Oh, sorry. I didn't…"

"Jim! Hi!" Molly says. Jim makes as if to leave the room but Molly stops him. "Come in! Come in!" I see Sherlock looking over at Jim and then look back into the microscope. Molly makes introductions as Jim closes the door and walks to her. "Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes."

"Ah!" Jim says.

John turns towards them, and Molly looks at him blankly. I laugh softly at that. "And, uh… sorry." Molly says apologetically.

"John Watson. Hi." John says.

Molly points at me. "And that is my best friend, Calliah Mullen." I wave at them and get back to work. I feel Jim staring at me for a little and I look over. He was smirking at me. I frown and try to concentrate on my work.

"He's not hat. Why d'you have to spoil..? He not." I head Molly say angrily. I look up to see that Jim left and Molly looking at Sherlock angrily.

Sherlock snorts. "With that level of personal grooming?"

"Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair." John says.

"You wash your hair. There's a difference. No-no – tinted eyelashes; clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines; those tired clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear." Sherlock explains.

"His underwear?" Molly asks.

"Visible above the waistline – very visible; very particular brand." Sherlock says and reaches for the metal dish. "That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here…" He shows her the card. "…and I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain." Molly stares at him for a moment then turns and runs out of the room. Sherlock looks surprised at her reaction.

"God Sherlock. You are a git to everyone you know." I get up and chase her. I find her in the woman's bathroom, crying on the ground. "Oh Mol.." I say softly and sit by her and wrap my arms around her.

"Why is he like that?" She asks me softly when she had finished crying.

"I don't know. He is just being extra git like these days. I mean he made John leave the other day and John stands up for a lot of Sherlock's stuff." I tell her. "Next time, slap him. It helps a lot."

She laughs. "Have you done it?"

"Twice. He deserved it." I tell her. She laughs and we get up. "I should get back to the boys before they leave or blow up the lab." She nods. "We'll go for drinks soon, okay?" I ask. She nods again. I smile and go back to the boys. John was by Sherlock and they were walking about the shoes.

"He  _loved_  those shoes, remember. He'd never leave them filthy. Wouldn't leave them go unless he had to. So: a child with big feet gets ..." Sherlock says and trails off. "Oh." He says softly.

"What?" John asks.

"Carl Powers." Sherlock says softly.

"Sorry, who?" John asks.

"Carl Powers, John." Sherlock says, still staring into the distance.

"What is it?" I ask.

"It's where I began." Sherlock says.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the Great Game.**

**I own nothing, except Calliah**

Later, we are in the back of a taxi. “Nineteen eighty-nine, a young kid – champion swimmer – came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament; drowned in the pool. Tragic accident.” He shows us the front page of a newspaper on his phone. “You wouldn’t remember it. Why should you?”

“I remember that.” I say softly. Sherlock looks at me questionably.

“But you remember.” John says to Sherlock.

“Yes.” Sherlock says, still looking at me. I was ignoring him. I wasn’t happy with him.

“Something fishy about it?” John asks.

“Started young, didn’t you?

“The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out it was too late. But there was something wrong; something I couldn’t get out of my head.” Sherlock explains.

“What?” John asks.

“His shoes.” Sherlock says.

“What about them?” John asks.

“They weren’t there. I made a fuss; I tried to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important. He’d left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes ...” He leans down and picks up a bag containing the trainers. “... until now.”

When we get back to the flat, Sherlock shuts himself in the kitchen. In the living room, on the other side of the closed doors, John is pacing back and forth. I lay on the couch with one of the books from Sherlock’s shelf. John finally stops and slides one of the doors open.

“Can I help? I want to help. There’s only five hours left.” John says. His phone sounds a text alert. He gets the phone from his trouser pocket and looks at the message. “It’s your brother. He’s texting me now.” He frowns. I look over and smile. “How does he know my number?”

“Mycroft knows all.” I joke and laugh.

“Must be a root canal.” I hear Sherlock say. John goes into the kitchen and I pick up my phone to see if Mycroft had texted me. He hadn’t. John sticks his head out of the kitchen.

“I’m going to talk to Mycroft. D’you wanna come?” He asks me. I grin and jump up. “Yup.”

A little while later, John, wearing a jacket and tie, and I, wearing a blue short sleeve waffle skater dress, blue Sperry Top-Sider Harlow Women's Lace-up Boots, and a blue clutch, sit in Mycroft’s office. John was in a chair and I was sitting on Mycroft’s desk. John looks anxiously at his watch. I laugh. Mycroft walks into the office, reading a report. “John. How nice. I was hoping you wouldn’t be long.” Mycroft says as he walks across to the desk, still looking at the report. John politely stands. “How can I help you?” Mycroft walks straight past John and puts the report on the desk. He leans over and kisses my cheek and I smile at him softly. He looks me up and down and smirks. I roll my eyes and he shrugs. John coughs and we both look at him. Mycroft rolls his eyes and looks at his desk. Mycroft waves a hand in John’s direction.

“Thank you.” John says and sits. “Um, well, I was wanting to… um, your brother sent me to collect more facts about the stolen plans, the missile plans.” John says.

Mycroft looks over his shoulder and smiles at him. “Did he?”

“Yes.” John smiles back a little nervously as Mycroft turns towards him and leans back against his desk. He places a hand on my knee. “He’s investigating now.” Mycroft puts his hand to the right side of his mouth as if he is in pain. I frown and place my hand on his shoulder. “He’s, er, investigating away.” Mycroft lowers his hand from his cheek and smiles at John as if he doesn’t a word of it. “Um, I just wondered what else you can tell me about the dead man.

“Uh, twenty-seven; a clerk at Vauxhall Cross – er, MI6. He was involved in the Bruce-Partington Programme in a minor capacity. Security checks A-OK; no known terrorist affiliations or sympathies. Last seen by his fiancée at ten thirty yesterday evening.” Mycroft tells John.

“Right. He was found at Battersea, yes? So he got on the train.” John says.

“No.” Mycroft says.

“What?” John asks.

“He had an Oyster card ...” Grimacing, he raises his hand to his mouth again. “... but it hadn’t been used.”

“Must have bought a ticket.” John suggested.

Mycroft lowers his hand. “There was no ticket on the body.”

“Then ...” John says.

“Then how did he end up with a bashed-in brain on the tracks at Battersea? That is the question – the one I was rather hoping Sherlock would provide an answer to. How’s he getting on?” Mycroft asks.

“He-he’s fine, yes. Oh, and-and it is going ... very well. It’s, um, you know – he’s completely focused on it.” John says and grins at Mycroft unconvincingly.

“Okay. Do you have all you need?” Mycroft asks.

“O-Oh, yes.” John says and stands up. He goes to leave and turns back. “Calliah, are you coming?”

“No, I’m going to spend time with Croft.” I tell him. He nods and leaves the room. I turn to Mycroft and frown. “Are you in a lot of pain?” He nods. “Okay, ice cream time.” I say and get off his desk. I take his hand and lead him to the car. I get in and move over. He gets in and grabs my legs.

“You know you are a tease.” Mycroft says.

“I have no idea what you are talking about?” I say, trying to look innocent. He just laughs and wraps an arm around me. He sat in comfortable silence on the way to the ice cream parlor. We get there and he helps me out. We sit and order. “So last time we were here…”

Mycroft looks down. “We should just forget about that day. It was one of the worst days of my life.”

“But Croft…” I say. I really wanted to talk about the almost kiss.

“Please Ardaigh.” He says. Mycroft almost never says please so I nod.

“Sure.” I say and look at my hands.

He moves over to my side of the table and grab my hands. “Ardaigh, you know I have problems talking about feeling and sentimental things.” I nod and look up at him. “So just know I think more highly than this country.” He kisses my cheek and smiles.

I smile and hug him. I knew that would be the closest thing to hearing Mycroft say something about his feelings. Our ice cream comes and we eat.

After we get done we go back to his house and watch the next Harry Potter movie. Mycroft walks me to my bedroom at the end of the movie. I lean on the door frame. He smiles at me and I smile back. “Thank you for spending the day with me.” I say.

“Any time.” Mycroft says. He moves my hair behind my ear and keeps his hand on my cheek. I could feel my heart start racing.

“Want to come in?” I ask softly. He nods and I open the door. We go in and I lay on the bed. We had changed after we got home. He comes over and lays on the bed. I move into his arms and he wraps one around my waist and the other one under my head. I look up at him. He smiles back. I move my hand to his cheek. “You are the most important person in my life.” I say softly. He leans in and kisses me softly. I kiss him softly back and then we pull back. I notice that he is blushing and I know that I am. I close my eyes and snuggle into him.

I wake up the next morning to an empty bed. I frown and lay on my back. Maybe it was all a dream. I hear my door open and I sit up. I see Mycroft coming in with a tray full of food and drinks. “What is this?” I ask.

Mycroft looks up and frowns. “I was gonna wake you up. I didn’t want you to wake up with an empty bed.” He comes over and sets the tray down.

I grin and hug him. “Thank you”

He hugs me back and kisses my head. “Are you mad that you woke up to an empty bed?” He asks when we pull apart.

“No Croft. I was disappointed because I thought it was all a dream but you made up for it. I am touched.” I say and take a piece of bacon.

He laughs and rolls his eyes. “Well that is what all those men do in those stupid… what did you call them?” He looks away in thought. “Oh! Rom coms.” I laugh and move to him. “What did I say it wrong?” He asks.

I shake my head and move onto of his lap. “Nope. You said it right. I never expected you to be watching those. I really just thought you were pretending to make me happy.”

“I was at first but they aren’t horrible.” He says and wraps his arms around me.

I giggle and grab a piece of bacon and feed it to him. He eats it and we lay down. We eat and talk about nothing of importance. We lay in bed and just look up at the ceiling. “You know it can’t be like this always.” Mycroft says.

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to change you.” I say and look over at him.

He smiles and we get up and Mycroft leaves to change. I get changed into some jeans, a red Doublju Women V contrast Color Shirring Neckline Tunic Top, red Minnetonka Cally Slipper, and a red clutch. I look at myself in the mirror and smile. I needed to start dressing like I wanted to impress someone and not like a slob. I feel my phone vibrate and I pull it out. New text message.

_We are heading to Scotland Yard if you want to meet us. JW_

I smile and head out of my room. I notice Mycroft sitting at the table and I go over. “Can I get a ride to Scotland Yard on your way to work?” I ask.

“How do you know I was going to work?” He asks. “Maybe I was going to steal you away somewhere romantic.”

I laugh and kisses his head. “It is Thursday and I know for a fact it would kill you to miss a day of work.”

He sighs and looks at me. “You know me too well.” I smile and start walking to the car. He follows me.

We get to Scotland Yard and I turn to him. “I think we should keep this from Sherlock.” We say at the same time. I blink and laugh. “Why do you think we should do that?” I ask.

“He would think that I was stealing you away.” Mycroft says.

“Since I was never his, I would disagree, but since I know Sherlock I agree.” I say.

“What about you? Why do you want to keep this a secret?” He asks me.

“He is on a case that could harm a number of people. I don’t want to chance anything.” I tell him.

“Oh so Sherlock isn’t investigating away?” He mocks John. I laugh and shake my head. He smiles and leans in and kisses me softly. He moves a hand to my cheek and I move one of my hands to the back of his head as I kiss back. We move away at the same time and I smile.

“That will be fun to do. But later. I have to go to the boys and you have to be the government.” I say. He kisses me once more and smile.

“True. I’ll talk to you later Ardaigh.” I smile and get out of the car. I wave at it as it leaves. I smile and rush inside. I go to Greg’s office and see Sherlock at the window, Greg at his desk, and John in the chair opposite side of Greg’s desk.

“But what was the point? Why would anyone do this?” Greg asks.

“Oh – I can’t be the only person in the world that gets bored.” Sherlock says and looks at me. He frowns. “You are too happy.”

I go into the office and sit down. “I’m not happier than I was yesterday.” I say and smile at John and Greg. Sherlock opens his mouth to say something as the pink phone beeps a message alert. John and I turn to him.

“You have one new message.” The voice alert says.

As Sherlock walks towards Lestrade’s desk, the phone sounds the Greenwich pips again, but this time there are three short pips and one long one.

“Four pips.” John says.

“First test passed, it would seem. Here’s the second.” Sherlock says. Guess I missed Sherlock solving the first case. He shows a new photograph to the us. It’s a close-up of a car with its driver’s door open and the number plate clearly visible. John and Lestrade get up to take a closer look, and I stay sitting. “It’s abandoned, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’ll see if it’s been reported.” Greg says.

As he picks up his phone, Sergeant Donovan comes to the office holding another phone. “Freak, it’s for you.” She says. I glare at her and she rolls her eyes. Sherlock walks over to the door and takes the phone from her. John sits down again and looks at me.

“Have fun last night?” He asks me.

“A blast.” I say and smiles. I get up and go out to where Sherlock is standing. John follows me.

“And you’ve stolen another voice, I presume.” Sherlock asks. “Who are you?” He asks. “What’s that noise?”

Greg comes out. “We’ve found it.” He says and starts to head out. Sherlock pockets the phone and follows Greg. I sigh and John and I follow Sherlock.

We go to a river, the police have arrived at a large open space where the car was found. Forensics officers in protective clothing are working on the car as Lestrade leads Sherlock towards it. John, Donovan, and I are walking along behind them.

“The car was hired yesterday morning by an Ian Monkford. Banker of some kind; City boy. Paid in cash.” Greg explains. “Told his wife he was going away on a business trip, but he never arrived.”

As Sherlock and Greg reach the passenger door of the car, Sally turns to John and me. “You’re still hanging round him.” She says to John.

“Yeah, well…” John says and shrugs.

“Opposites attract, I suppose.” Donovan says.

“No, we’re not…” John tries to explain. I cover up my laugh with a cough.

“You should get yourself a hobby – stamps, maybe. Model trains. Safer.” She says and goes by Greg and Sherlock. I feel my phone go off. It was Molly asking if I could cover for her today. I text her back and tell her I could.

“John, I have to go into work. I’ll text you when I’m done.” I tell him. He nods and I go off.

The next morning I come out of my bedroom to the boys getting their coats on. They turn to me and I wave. “We are going to breakfast. You coming?” John asks. I nod and get my coat on. We get to a café and I sit by Sherlock on one side and John sits on the other. John was eating a full breakfast and has a mug of tea. I only had a cup of coffee. Sherlock didn’t have anything. He was drumming his fingers impatiently on the table.

“Feeling better?” Sherlock asks John.

“Mmm. You realise we’ve hardly stopped for breath since this thing started?” John says and eats another forkful of food, then looks thoughtful. “Has it occurred to you ...?”

“Probably.” Sherlock interrupts.

“No – has it occurred to you that the bomber’s playing a game with you? The envelope; breaking into the other flat; the dead kid’s shoes – it’s all meant for you.” John offers.

“Yes, I know.” Sherlock says with a slight smile.

“Is it him, then? Moriarty?” I ask.

“Perhaps.” Sherlock says. The pink phone beeps a message alert. Sherlock switches it on and it sounds two short Greenwich pips followed by the longer tone, and a photograph of a smiling middle-aged woman appears on the screen. “That could be anybody.”

“Well, it could be, yeah. Lucky for you, I’ve been more than a little unemployed.” John says and I frown.

“How d’you mean?” Sherlock asks.

“Lucky for you, Mrs Hudson and I watch far too much telly.” John explains and stands up and walks over to the counter. Smiling at the woman behind the counter, he picks up a remote control and switches on the small television hung on the wall. He switches channels a couple of times until he finds what he wants. The woman from the photograph is on the screen, partway through her make-over show. She is gesturing to someone just offscreen. “Thank you, Tyra! Doesn’t she look lovely, everybody, now?” Connie says. The pink phone rings. “Anyway, speaking of silk purses and sows’ ears ...”

Sherlock picks up the phone and answers it. “Hello?” Sherlock answers. I turn and look at him. Sherlock listens to the person on the phone. Sherlock and I look at John as he sits down. “Why are you doing this?”

Sherlock lowers the phone and shakes his head at John, then drops the phone onto the table as he turns to look at the TV. “... and I see you’re back to your bad habits.” Connie on the TV says. As the footage continues, a voiceover replaces her voice and a news headline at the bottom of the screen reads: Make-over Queen Connie Prince dead at 48. “... continuing into the sudden death of the popular TV personality, Connie Prince. Miss Prince, famous for her make-over programmes, was found dead two days ago by her brother in the house they shared in Hampstead ...” the news reader says.

We go to the morgue and I groan. I was just here for work. I didn’t want to be back already. Greg and the boys are looking at Connie Prince’s body. I was sitting at the table and playing with my phone.

We go back home later. I lay down on the couch when Sherlock steps over me to pin things on the wall. I ignore him and soon he is finished. He starts pacing back and forth in front of the sofa. Greg was standing by. “Connection, connection, connection. There must be a connection.” Sherlock says under his breath. He stops and gestures towards various spots on the display on the wall as he speaks. “Carl Powers, killed twenty years ago. The bomber knew him; admitted that he knew him. The bomber’s iPhone was in stationery from the Czech Republic. First hostage from Cornwall; the second from London; the third from Yorkshire, judging by her accent. What’s he doing – working his way round the world? Showing off?” The pink phone rings and he takes it out of his pocket. Sherlock looks at Lestrade for a moment, then switches the phone off, puts it back in his pocket and raises his hands to his mouth in the prayer position, concentrating on the wall in front of him.

I get up and yawn. “I am going to take a nap.” I tell the boys.

They ignore me and I shrug. I go to my bedroom and sleep. I wake up and no one is home. I shrug and smile. “House to myself.” I say and turn on some music. I grin and dance along with it and sing my head off. After an hour of it, I get a phone call. I see that it is Mycroft and smile. I try to control my breathing and answer. “H-Hello.” I says.

“Hello. What are you up to?” He asks me.

“Oh nothing much. Chilling at home alone.” I say.

“Yes your dance moves are getting better.” He says. I groans and look around for the cameras.

“Really Croft? You have the placed bugged?” I ask.

“Of course I do and if you want access to the book store, you will keep them there and not tell Sherlock about this.” He says.

I sigh and sit down. “Fine.” I laugh.

“What is so funny?” He asks.

“I’m talking to my boyfriend about cameras he has put in my flat, which is also his brother’s flat and am getting bride with a book store. That is so not normal.” I say and laugh.

“Boyfriend?” I hear Mycroft say softly.

“Shit. I didn’t…. er, I mean…” I trail off.

He laughs softly. “I never thought I would be anyone’s boyfriend.”

I smile softly. “Well you are better than a boyfriend. You are my Croft.” I say.

“Your Croft.” He repeats. I can hear the smile in his voice. I yawn again. “Get some sleep.”

“I just got some.” I argue.

“I guess not enough. I will call tomorrow, if you are good.” He says.

“Night Croft.” I say softly.

“Night Ardaigh.” He says softly.


	16. Chapter 16

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the Great Game.**

**I own nothing, except Calliah**

I wake up in the morning and walk out to the living room. The boys where sitting in their armchairs watching the news on the TV. Sherlock has the pink phone on the left arm of his chair. The windows are still broken and boarded up and the traffic is loud outside. On the TV, the picture shows a high-rise block of flats and the headline at the bottom of the screen reads, “12 dead in gas explosion”. The picture moves to a close-up, showing a corner of the building many floors up which has been torn open and exposed to the air.

“The explosion, which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people ...” the news reader says

John briefly glances over at Sherlock. “Old block of flats.

“…is said to have been caused by a faulty gas main. A spokesman from the utilities company ...” The new reader continues.

“He certainly gets about.” John says.

“Well, obviously I lost that round – although technically I did solve the case.”  Sherlock says and I frown. What had happened? He picks up the remote and mutes the volume. Lowering his hands again, he looks thoughtfully into the distance. “He killed the old lady because she started to describe him.” I gasp and the boys look at me. Sherlock motions me to come over. I walk over and sit on the floor in front of his chair. He plays with my hair as I bring my knees to my chest. “Just once, he put himself in the firing line.”

“What d’you mean?” John asks, looking at me worried.

“Well, usually, he must stay above it all. He organizes these things but no-one ever has direct contact.” Sherlock explains.

“What ... like the Connie Prince murder – he-he arranged that? So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?” John asks.

“Novel.” I hear Sherlock say softly.

John looks at him in disbelief then turns and looks at the TV screen again, which moved onto a new story. “Hun.” He jerks a finger towards the screen and Sherlock looks up to see Raoul de Santos being bundled out of Kenny’s house by police officers. The press are there and are shoving each other as they struggle to get close to Raoul and take photographs while interviewers shout questions. The headline on the screen reads: “Connie Prince: man arrested”. Raoul is shoved into the back of a police car. John looks round at Sherlock.

“Taking his time this time.” Sherlock says.

John looks away, clearing his throat uncomfortably. On the TV, the camera is focusing on Kenny who is standing at the window of his house, holding Sekhmet in his arms and watching the chaos outside. “Anything on the Carl Powers case?” John asks.

“Nothing. All the living classmates check out spotless. No connection.” Sherlock says.

“Maybe the killer was older than Carl?” John asks.

“The thought had occurred.” Sherlock says.

“So why’s he doing this, then – playing this game with you? D’you think he wants to be caught?” John asks. I look up at Sherlock.

Sherlock takes his hand away from my hair and presses his fingertips together in front of his mouth and smiles slightly. “I think he wants to be distracted.”

John laughs humourlessly, gets out of his chair and heads towards the kitchen. I get up and take John’s chair. “I hope you’ll be very happy together.”

“Sorry, what?” Sherlock asks.

A second later I feel John lean his hands on the back of his chair. “There are lives at stake, Sherlock – actual human lives… Just - just so I know, do you care about that at all?” He asks furious.

“Will caring about them save them?” Sherlock asks irritably.

“Nope.” John says.

“Then I’ll continue not to make that mistake.” Sherlock says. I frown. Mycroft wasn’t the only brother who thought caring was a disadvantage. I made a promise to myself to help both brothers see that is wrong.

“And you find that easy, do you?” John asks.

“Yes, very. Is that news to you?” Sherlock asks.

“No.” I look up to see John smile bitterly. “No.”

“I’ve disappointed you and Calliah.” Sherlock says.

“Not me.” I say softly.

John points to Sherlock sarcastically. “That’s good – that’s a good deduction, yeah.”

“Don’t make people into heroes, John. Heroes don’t exist, and if they did, I wouldn’t be one of them.” Sherlock says. I look back and forth as they stare at each other. The pink phone sounds a message alert. “Excellent!” He picks up the phone and activates it. The phone sounds one short pip and the long tone. “View of the Thames. South Bank – somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo.” I smile at him. It amazed me that he and Mycroft could do that. He gets out his phone. “You check the papers; I’ll look online…” We looks up and sees that John is standing with his hands braced on the back of his chair and his head lowered. “Oh, you’re angry with me, so you won’t help.” John raises his head and shrugs. “Not much cop, this caring lark.”

John stares at him for a moment, then straightens up as he perhaps begins to realise that his friend is never going to change. Sherlock continues his online search. After a while John sniffs, then walks across the room towards the sofa. I smiles softly at him. John sits down on the sofa and starts going through the pile of newspaper on the coffee table. I get out my phone and send a text to Mycroft.

_Anything happening around the on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?CM_

“Ah. Men found on the train line – Andrew West.” I hear John say.

Sherlock looks exasperated. “Nothing.” Sherlock says and hits a button on his phone. “It’s me. Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?”

We go to the scene of the crime, Sherlock pulls on a pair of latex gloves. Greg is waiting beside the body. “D’you reckon that is connected, then? The bomber?” Greg ask.

“Must be. Odd, though…” Sherlock says and holds up the pink phone. “…he hasn’t been in tough.”

“But we must assume some poor bugger’s primed to explode, yeah?” Greg asks.

“Yes.” Sherlock says and steps back and takes a long look at the man’s body which is now lying on its back on a plastic sheet.

“Any ideas?” Greg asks.

“Seven… so far.” Sherlock says.

“Seven?!” Greg exclaims

Sherlock walks closer to the body and squats down to examine the man’s face closely with his magnifier. He then looks at the ripped pocket on the shirt before working his way downwards until he reaches the man’s feet. He pulls off one of the socks and examines the sole of the foot with his magnifier. Standing up and closing the magnifier, he looks across to John and jerks his head down towards the body in a mute order to examine it. John looks enquiringly at Lestrade for permission; the inspector holds his hand out in a ‘be my guest’ gesture. John squats down beside the body and reaches out to take hold of the man’s wrist as Sherlock walks a few paces away and gets his phone out. I just stand there and frowns. I still hadn’t figured out why Sherlock kept bringing me to the cases. I tried to stay home a couple times and he wouldn’t hear of it.

“He’s dead about twenty-four hours – maybe a bit longer.” John explains and looks at Greg. “Did he drown??”

“Apparently not. Not enough of the Thames in his lungs. Asphyxiated.” Greg explains.

“Yes, I’d agree.” John says. “There’s quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth. More bruises her and here.”

“Fingertips.” Sherlock says thoughtfully.

John stands up. “In his late thirties, I’d day. Not in the best condition.”

“He’s been in the river a long while. The water’s destroyed most of the data.” Sherlock says and quirks a grin. “But I’ll tell you one thing: that lost Vermeer painting’s a fake.”

“What?” Greg asks.

“We need to identify the corpse. Find out about his friends and associates ...” Sherlock says.

“Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait. What painting? What are you – what are you on about?” Greg ask.

“It’s all over the place. Haven’t you seen the posters? Dutch Old Master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago; now it’s turned up. Worth thirty million pounds.” Sherlock explains.

“Okay. So what has that got to do with the stiff?” Greg asks.

Sherlock grins briefly. “Everything. Have you ever heard of the Golem?”

“Golem?” Greg asks.

“It’s a horror story, isn’t it? What are you saying?” I ask.

“Jewish folk story. A gigantic man made of clay. It’s also the name of an assassin – real name Oskar Dzundza – one of the deadliest assassins in the world.” He points down to the body. “That is his trademark style.”

“So this is a hit?” Greg asks.

“Definitely. The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands.” Sherlock says.

“But what has this gotta do with that painting? I don’t see ...” Greg says.

“You do see – you just don’t observe.” Sherlock says exasperated.

“All right, all right, girls, calm down.” John says. I laugh softly. “Sherlock? D’you wanna take us through it?”

Sherlock takes a moment before responding. He eventually steps back and points to the body. “What do we know about this corpse? The killer’s not left us with much – just the shirt and the trousers. They’re pretty formal – maybe he was going out for the night, but the trousers are heavy-duty, polyester, nasty, and same as the shirt – cheap. They’re both too big for him, so some kind of standard-issue uniform. Dressed for work, then. What kind of work? There’s a hook on his belt for a walkie-talkie.”

“Tube driver?” Greg asks.

Sherlock throws him a look that blatantly says ‘idiot’.

“Security guard?” John asks.

“More likely. That’ll be borne out by his backside.” Sherlock says.

“Backside?!” Greg asks.

“Flabby. You’d think that he’d led a sedentary life, yet the soles of his feet and the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise. So, a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around. Security guard’s looking good. And the watch helps, too. The alarm shows he did regular night shifts.” Sherlock explains.

“Why regular? Maybe he just set his alarm like that the night before he died.” Greg says.

“No-no-no, the buttons are stiff, hardly touched. He set his alarm like that a long time ago. His routine never varied. But there’s something else. The killer must have been interrupted, otherwise he would have stripped the corpse completely. There was some kind of badge or insignia on the shirt front that he tore off, suggesting the dead man worked somewhere recognizable, and some kind of institution.” Sherlock says and takes something from his pocket. “Found this inside his trouser pockets.” He is holding a small scrunched-up ball of paper. “Sodden by the river but still recognisably ...”

John peers at the ball of paper. “Tickets?”

“Ticket stubs. He worked in a museum or gallery. Did a quick check – the Hickman Gallery has reported one of its attendants as missing.” He points down to the body. “Alex Woodbridge. Tonight they unveil the re-discovered masterpiece. Now why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant? Inference: the dead man knew something about it – something that would stop the owner getting paid thirty million pounds. The picture’s a fake.”

“Fantastic.” John says admiringly

Sherlock shrugs and I can tell that that he is still peeved. “Meretricious.” I go over to him and takes his hand. He looks at me and smiles briefly.

“And a Happy New Year!” Greg says. I throw him a ‘seriously?!’ look. Greg grins sheepishly and I shake my head.

“Poor sod.” John says. I look over and see he is looking at the body.

“I’d better get my feelers out for this Golem character.” Greg says.

“Pointless. You’ll never find him. But I know a man who can.” Sherlock says.

“Who?” Greg asks.

“Me.” Sherlock say grinning. He turns and walks away, pulling me with.

We get into a taxi and Sherlock looks at the pink phone. “Why hasn’t he phoned? He’s broken his pattern. Why?” He leans forward to the taxi driver. “Waterloo Bridge.”

“Where now? The Gallery?” John asks.

“In a bit.” Sherlock says.

“The Hickman’s contemporary art, isn’t it? Why have they got hold of an Old Master?” John asks.

“Dunno. Dangerous to jump to conclusions. Need data.” Sherlock says and takes his notebook from his pocket and writes something on a page before tearing it out and folding a bank note inside it. He puts the paper into his pocket, then a few seconds later calls out to the driver. “Stop!” The cab pulls over to the side of the road. “You two wait here. I won’t be a moment.” He gets out, goes to the railings at the edge of the pavement and easily vaults over them. John gets out of the cab and I sigh. After a minute, the boys get back into the cab. “Now we go to the Gallery.”

We get to the Gallery and Sherlock gets out. He helps me out and stops John as he was getting out. “No. I need you to find out all you can about the gallery attendant. Lestrade will give you the address.” Sherlock says.

“Okay.” John says. Sherlock and I go into the gallery.

“Okay we need to get into some security guard’s outfits.” Sherlock explains as we go into an office. I nod and look around. “Here we are.” I hear Sherlock say. I turn around and see that he had found a men and women’s outfit. I nod and grab the women’s one. I put it on and tied my hair back into a low bun. I look over and see Sherlock staring at me.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.” He says and looks away. I roll my eyes and leave the room. Sherlock rushes past me and goes into a room. I follow and look around. It was a large white-painted room which is displaying the Vermeer painting. There is no other artwork or furniture of any kind in the room, but free-standing posts are roped together to form a path to the picture. We move to the photo. I hear a pair of high heels behind up. “Don’t you two have something to do?” I hear an Eastern European accent behind us.

“Just admiring the view. Well one of them.” Sherlock says and winks at me. I frown and look at him. What the hell?

“Yes. Lovely. Now get back to work. We open tonight.” The woman says.

Sherlock looks over his shoulder and then turns and walks towards her. I follow behind. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“What?” The woman asks.

“That the painting’s a fake.” Sherlock says.

“What?” The woman says angrily.

“It’s a fake. It has to be. It’s the only possible explanation.” Sherlock says. He gets closer to the woman and looks at her I.D. badge. “You’re in charge, aren’t you, Miss Wenceslas?”

“Who are you two?” Miss Wenceslas asks.

Sherlock gets into her face and stares into his eyes. “Alex Woodbridge knew that the painting was a fake, so somebody sent the Golem to take care of him. Was it you?”

“Golem? What the hell are you talking about?” Miss Wenceslas asks.

“Or are you working for someone else? Did you fake it for them?” Sherlock asks.

“It’s not a fake.” Miss Wenceslas says.

“It is a fake. Don’t know why, but there’s something wrong with it. There has to be.” Sherlock says.

“What the hell are you on about? You know, I could have you two sacked on the spot.” Miss Wenceslas tells us. I smirk.

“Not a problem.” I say.

“No?” Miss Wenceslas asks.

“No. We don’t work here, you see. Just pooped in to give you a bit of friendly advice.” Sherlock tells her.

“How did you get in?” Miss Wenceslas asks.

“Please.” Sherlock says scornfully.

“I want to know.” Miss Wenceslas says.

“The art of disguise is knowing how to hide in plain sight.” Sherlock explains. We turn and begin to walk away, taking off our caps.

“Who are you two?” Miss Wenceslas asks.

“Sherlock Holmes.” He says

“Calliah Mullen.” I say. We drop our caps onto of the railings posts and continue onwards.

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Miss Wenceslas asks.

“You should be.” Sherlock says. We take off our jackets and look round at her. We drop them on the ground and reach the door. He flamboyantly shoves one open. “Have a nice day!” He says as we leave. I laugh as we go back to the office. Sherlock looks at me and smiles. “Have fun?”

“That was a blast!” I say and change.

“Yeah, it was fun.” He says and leans against the wall. “You should keep on the skirt and heels. Make your legs longer.” He tells me. I look at him and see that he is looking at me. “What?”

“Why do you care?” I ask.

“I don’t.” He says and I roll my eyes.

“Whatever. Let’s go.” I grab the pants I was wearing and walk out of the office.

We go back home and Sherlock sits in his chair and I sit in mine. I cross my legs and close my eyes. “What are we doing now?”

“We wait.” Sherlock says.

“Wait for what?” I ask.

“John.” He says and smiles.

I feel my phone go off and I get it out.

_I was in a meeting when you texted. Still need the information? MH_

I laugh and move sideways in the chair so my legs were resting on the arm of the chair. I feel Sherlock looking at me but I ignore him.

_No we found it. Thanks though. CM_

“Who is that?” Sherlock asks.

“Croft.” I say softly. I hear him scoff. “What?” I look over.

“’Croft’. God! Do you know how you sound? Like his little call girl.” He says.

“Call girl!?” I yell.

“Yeah.” He says. I get up and move over to him. He look up at me unimpressed. “What?”

“I am no one’s call girl. Got that William!?” I yell in his face.

He looks at me shocked. “W-William?” He asks.

I stand up and straighten my skirt. “Mummy Holmes told me.” I say and sit back down.

“M-Mummy?” Sherlock asks. I roll my eyes and ignore him. I feel my phone buzz.

_Tell brother dearest that after this is over, he will be hearing from me. MH_

I smile and look at Sherlock. “Croft isn’t happy with you.”

Sherlock gets up and looks outside.

_Thanks Croft. CM_

I get a reply a second later.

_Anytime. MH_

Sherlock gets his coat on. “Come on.” He tells me. I get up and put on my coat. We walk out to the street and see John getting out of the taxi.

“Alex Woodbridge didn’t know anything special about art.” John tells us.

“And?” Sherlock asks.

“And…” John says. Sherlock looks towards Speedy’s. I look over and see a homeless girl standing by the railings, shaking a paper cup at people as they pass. Sherlock starts walking towards her.

“Is that is? No habits, hobbies, personality?” Sherlock asks.

“No, give us a chance! He was an amateur astronomer.” John says.

Sherlock stops dead, turns and points towards the taxi. “Hold that cab.” He tells John. I go to John and get in the taxi.

“I’ll just wait in here.” I tell John. John waits outside the taxi and after a minute, Sherlock and John get in.

We go to Vauxhall. We get out and are walking along, Sherlock buttons his coat as he gazes up at the sky.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Sherlock asks.

John and I look up at the stars. “I thought you didn’t care about things like that.” John asks.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it.” Sherlock says and, unknowing to me, looks over at me.

We walk into the Arches. “Listen: Alex Woodbridge had a message on the answer phone at his flat – a Professor Cairns?” John says.

“This way.” Sherlock says.

“Nice! Nice part of town. Er, any time you want to explain.” John says.

“Homeless network – really is indispensable.” Sherlock explains.

John gets a small flashlight from his pocket and switches it on. “Homeless network?”

“My eyes and ears all over the city.” Sherlock explains.

“Oh, that’s cleave. So you scratch their backs and …” John says.

“Yes, then I disinfect myself.” Sherlock says and brings out a flashlight. He shines it around as they continue into the darkness of the Arches. We see homeless people all around us. I frown and wrap my arms around myself. This have been easily me. Suddenly, in the distance, the shadow of a man shows up on a wall as he begins to stand up.

“Sherlock!” John yells.

“Come on!” Sherlock yells and we duck to the side of the wall as the man continues straightening up until he is over seven feet tall.

“What’s he doing sleeping rough?” John asks in a whispers.

Sherlock peers around the corner. “Well, he has a very distinctive look. He has to hide somewhere where tongues won’t wag – much.” Sherlock says.

John looks down as he realizes that he doesn’t have anything for protection. “Oh shi…”

Sherlock takes a pistol from his coat pocket and winks at me. I roll my eyes and look at the sky. “What?” Sherlock asks John.

“I wish I’d…” John starts to say.

Sherlock hands John the gun. “Don’t mention it.”

The man breaks into a run and hurries away down another tunnel. We chase across towards where he was and reach the tunnel just in time to see him climbing into a waiting car which immediately speeds off. Sherlock punches the air in frustration.

“No, no, no, no! It’ll take us weeks to find him again.” Sherlock says.

“Or not. I have an idea where he might be going.” John says.

“What?” Sherlock asks.

“I told you: someone left Alex Woodbridge a message. There can’t be that many Professor Cairns in the book. Come on.” John explains.

We go to the Planetarium and races into it. John aims his pistol at the attacker and Sherlock yells “Golem!”

“…many are actually long-dead, exploded into supernovas.” The narrator says.

The Golem looks up, grunts in surprise, then snaps Cairns’ neck and drops her to the floor. Her fingers drag along the mixing desk and the footage goes into fast-forward again, plunging the theatre into darkness. The Golem ducks down out of sight.

“John!” Sherlock yells.

“I can’t see him. I’ll go round. I’ll go!” John says. As the footage continues spooling and then stopping and playing before spooling again, light comes and goes in the room. Sherlock stares around as John hurries off.

“Who are you working for this time, Dzundza?” Sherlock yells loudly.

I feel a hand clamp onto my mouth and nose while gripping my neck with the other. I grab at the hand on my face and struggle to pull it feel. John races over and stops in front of us, his pistol held in both hands. “Golem!” He yells. He cocks the gun and points it at the Golem’s face, his hands and voice steady. “Let her go, or I will kill you.” I whimper in my efforts to pull the man’s hand from my face. The Golem swings him around to the left and lashes out with his long right leg during a moment of darkness, kicking the pistol from John’s hands. Golem lets me go, he surges forward and wrestles with John. Sherlock joins in and helps. Golem pushes them towards me and they tumble to the floor. Sherlock scrambles up again and takes up a boxing stance in front of him, holding his fists up. He swings a punch at the man but he grabs his hand and swings his other arm down heavily onto Sherlock’s shoulder, dropping him to the floor yet again. The Golem follows him down and clamps both hands onto his face, leaning his weight onto them. Behind him, John throws himself onto his back. The Golem roars, releasing Sherlock as he claws at the hobbit on his back. He stands up with John still clinging to his back and spins around several times before finally managing to shake him off onto the floor. As John groggily tries to get up, the Golem turns, picks up Sherlock and skims him across the floor towards John. As Sherlock slides across the floor he grabs at the pistol and manages to pick it up. The Golem runs for the doors. Sherlock rolls over onto his back and fires twice towards him but the Golem makes it to the doors and disappears through them.

“…long dead, exploded into supernovas.” As the image of a supernova dramatically explodes on the screen behind him, Sherlock angrily slams his hand down on the floor in front of him.


	17. Chapter 17

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the last part of The Great Game.**

**I own nothing, except Calliah**

We get home and I see Mycroft sitting in Sherlock’s chair. “Get out of my chair Mycroft.” Sherlock says as he comes in. Mycroft gets up and goes over to me.

“Did she get checked out?” Mycroft asks John.

“Of course.” John says. Mycroft looks at me and I nod. I motion to my room and he nods.

We go to my room and I sit on my bed. I bring my knees to my chest and step my head on my knees. He sits down and wraps an arm around me. “Let me see.” He says softly. I bring my head up and he looks at my neck. “You shouldn’t have bruising.” I nod and put my head back. “Does it hurt to talk?” He asks.

“A little.” I whisper.

“No talking then.” He says softly.

I look up him and I can feel the tears in my eyes. “I was a hindrance to them Croft. If I hadn’t been there then they would have got that man.” I say and start to cry. Mycroft wraps his arms around me and lets me cry into his chest. After a while, I sit up and turn my back to him. I wipe my eyes. “Sorry.” I say softly.

I feel Mycroft place a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t be afraid to show your emotions with me.”

“You are.” I say and look back at him.

He frowns and nods. “I am.” He says and lays on my bed. I lay down and rest my head on his chest. “We are a couple of messed up people, aren’t we?”

I laugh and nod. I look up at him. “But we help each other and will get better.” He nods and kisses me softly. Mycroft left after a little after that with a promise to call, a warning to John, and a glare to Sherlock.

The next morning we are back at Hickman Gallery. Sherlock is standing in front of the Vermeer paining, looking up information on his phone. John, Miss Wenceslas, and I are standing behind him.

“It’s a fake. It has to be.” Sherlock says.

“That painting has been subjected to every test know to science.” Miss Wenceslas says.

“It’s a very good fake, then.” Sherlock says and spins around and glares at her. “You know about this, don’t you? This is you, isn’t it?”

Miss Wenceslas turns to Greg, looking exasperated. “Inspector, my time is being wasted. Would you mind showing yourself and your friends out?” Miss Wenceslas asks.

The pink phone rings. Sherlock snatches it from his pocket and switched it from his pocket and switches on the speaker. “The painting is a fake.” Sherlock says into the phone. There’s a faint sound of breathing over the speaker but otherwise there is no response. “It’s a fake. That’s why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed.” Still there’s nothing more than breathing. “Oh, come on. Proving it’s just the detail. The painting is a fake. I’ve solved it. I’ve figured it out. It’s a fake! That’s the answer. That’s why they were killed.” No one still answers. Sherlock takes a deep breath to calm himself. “Okay, I’ll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?” He asks.

After a moment, the tremulous voice of a very young boy comes over the phone’s speaker. “Ten…” The boy says.

Instantly Sherlock spins and looks closely at the painting.

“It’s a kid. Oh, God, it’s a kid!” Greg says shocked. I frown and wrap my arms around myself.

“What did he say?” John asks.

“’Ten’.” Sherlock says.

“Nine.” The boy says.

“It’s a countdown. He’s giving me time.” Sherlock explains as he scans the painting.

“Jesus!” Greg says.

“The painting is fake, but how can I prove it? How? How??” Sherlock says.

“Eight…” the boy says.

Sherlock turns and glares at Miss Wenceslas. “This kid will die. Tell me why the painting is a fake. Tell me!” Miss Wenceslas flinches and opens her mouth. Sherlock immediately holds up his hand to stop her.

“Seven…” The boy says.

“No, shut up. Don’t say anything. It only works if I figure it out. He turns back to the painting again. Unable to stand the tension, John turns and walks away a few paces. Lestrade turns to watch him, probably wanting to join in the pacing as well. I move to Sherlock and takes his hand. “Must be possible. Must be staring me in the face.” Sherlock says to me softly.

“Six…” The boy says.

“Come on.” John says urgently

“Woodbridge knew, but how?” Sherlock says.

“Five…” The boy says.

“It’s speeding up!” Greg says.

“Sherlock.” John says urgently.

Sherlock sees something and his mouth open as the penny finally drops. “Oh!”

“Four…” The boy says.

“In the planetarium! You two heard it too. Oh, that is brilliant! This is gorgeous!” Sherlock says. Sherlock turns and shoves the pink phone into John’s hands. He walks away from the painting, grinning as he pulls out his own phone from his pocket.

“Three…” The boy says.

He types something into his phone and then turns back and walks towards us, laughing in delight. “This is beautiful.  I love this!” I frown.

“Two…” The boy says.

“Sherlock!” I yell furiously.

Sherlock grabs the pink phone from John and yells into it. “The Van Buren Supernova!”

There’s a short pause, then the boy’s plaintive voice come from the speaker. “Please. Is someone there?” He asks. I sigh in relief and lean against the wall. “Somebody help me!”

Sherlock turns and hands the phone to Greg. “There you go. Go find out where he is and picks him up.” He gives John a long look and turns to the painting and points at the dots in the sky. “The Van Buren Supernova, so-called.” He holds his phone over his shoulder. “Exploding star, only appeared in the sky in eighteen fifty-eight.” He turns and throws her a triumphant look, then walks away. John drags in a relieved breath, then walks closer to look at the painting.

“So how could it have been painted in the sixteen forties?” John asks. He grins over his shoulder at Miss Wenceslas, then looks back to the picture again. His phone trills a text alert. “Oh.” He digs out his phone, still breathing heavily, and looks at the message. He growls slightly, then looks up at the painting one last time. “Oh Sherl…” He switches off his phone and walks away. I follow.

John and I go to Battersea while Sherlock goes to Scotland Yard. We are wearing a high-vis jacket over our coats, John and I are walking along the railway line with the Tube guard who found Andrew West’s body.

“SO this is where West was found?” John asks.

“Yeah.” The tube guard says.

“Uh-huh.” John says.

“You two gonna be long?” The tube guard asks.

“I might be.” John says.

“You with the police, then?” The tube guard asks.

“Sort of.” I say.

“I hate ‘em.” tube guard says.

“The police?” John asks.

“No. Jumpers.” tube guard tells us. “People who chuck themselves in front of trains. Selfish bastards.”

“Well, that’s one way of looking at it.” John says and squats down to look more closely at the railway track.

“I mean it. It’s all right for them. It’s over in a split second – strawberry jam all over the lines. What about the drivers, hmm? They’ve gotta live with it, haven’t they?” The tube guard says.

John runs his finders along the track, then lifts his hand to look at it. “Yeah, speaking of strawberry jam, there’s no blood on the line.” He stands up. “Has it been cleaned off?”

“No, there wasn’t that much.” The guard says.

“You said his head was smashed in” John said.

“Well, it was, but there wasn’t much blood.” Guard said.

I look at him unbelieving. “Okay.” John says. He turns and looks along the line thoughtfully.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it then.” Guard said. John and I walk a few yards further down the line and John squats down. “Just give us shout when you’re off.”

“Right.” I say. The guard walks away.

John stands up and looks at me. “Right: so, uh, Andrew West got on the train somewhere – or did he? There’s no ticket on the body. Then how did he end up here?” John and I squat down and look at the tracks.

“Points.” I hear behind us.

“Yes!” John says and springs to his feet. I stand up and we turn around to see Sherlock.

“Knew one of you would get there eventually. West wasn’t killed here; that’s why there was so little blood.” Sherlock explains.

“How long have you been following us?” John asks.

“Since the start. You don’t think I’d give up on a case like this just to spite my brother, do you?” Sherlock asks.

“Yes.” I say.

He rolls his eyes and turns and starts to walk away. “Come on. Got a bit of burglary to do.”

We walk down the street. “The missile defense plan haven’t left the country, otherwise Mycroft’s people would have heard about it. Despite what people think, we do still have a Secret Service.” Sherlock explains.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve met them.” John says. I look over and roll my eyes.

“Which means who ever stole the memory stick can’t sell it or doesn’t know what to do with it. My money’s on the latter. We’re here.” Sherlock says.

“Where?” John asks. Sherlock turns into the drive of a marionette and trots up the steps at the side of the building which lead to the front door of flat 21A on the first floor. As he rummages in his pocket, John whispers to him urgently. “Sherlock! What if there’s someone in?”

“There isn’t.” Sherlock says and picks the lock and goes inside.

“Jesus.” John says softly. We hurries inside and I shuts the door. Sherlock trots up the short flight of stairs ahead of him and walks into the living room. “Where are we?”

“Oh, sorry, didn’t I say? Joe Harrison’s flat.” Sherlock says.

“Joe…?” John asks.

Sherlock goes straight over to the window and pulls back the net curtain. He grins in satisfaction at the sight which greets him outside. “Brother of West’s fiancée. He stole the memory stick; killed his prospective brother-in-law.”

Dropping to his knees, he gets out his magnifier and runs it slowly along the edge of the window sill. John walks across to him and peers over his shoulder. “Then why’d he do it?” John asks.

He straightens up and turns as someone unlocks the front door. Sherlock also stands. “Let’s ask him.”

Reaching round to the back of his jeans, John walks quietly to the door of the living room as the front door slams. He steps out onto the landing just as Joe, wearing his courier gear, is leaning his bicycle against the wall. When he sees John he picks up the bike as if he intends to use it as a weapon or simply to throw it at him. John instantly raises his right hand and points his pistol at him. “Don’t.” John says sternly. Joe keeps coming but John shakes his head. “Don’t.” Joe stops and lowers the bike, sighing in a mixture of frustration and fear.

John leads Joe to the sofa as we stand and look at him. He was very distressed. “It wasn’t meant to…” Joe says as Sherlock looks away, exasperated. “God.” Joe rubs his hand over his face. “What’s Lucy gonna say? Jesus.” He sinks back on the sofa.

“Why did you kill him?” John asks.

“It was an accident.” Joe explains. Sherlock snorts. “I swear it was.”

“But stealing the plans for the missile defense programme wasn’t an accident, was it?” Sherlock asks.

“I started dealing drugs. I mean, the bike thing’s a great cover, right? I dunno – I dunno how it started; I just got out of my depth. I owed people thousands – serious people. Then at Westie’s engagement do, he starts talking about his job. I mean, usually he’s so careful; but that night after a few pints he really opened up. He told me about these missile plans – beyond top secret. He showed me the memory stick; he waved it in front of me. You hear about these things getting lost, ending up on rubbish tips and what-not. And there it was, and I thought ... well, I thought it could be worth a fortune. It was pretty easy to get the thing off him, he was so plastered. Next time I saw him, I could tell by the look on his face that he knew.” Joe explains.

“What happened?” John asks.

“I was gonna call an ambulance, but it was too late. I just didn’t have a clue what to do, so I dragged him in ‘ere, and I just sat in the dark, thinking.” Joe says.

“What a neat little idea popped into your head.” Sherlock says, pushing the net curtain aside and looking out of the window. “Carrying Andrew West way away from here. His body would have gone on for ages if the train hadn’t met a stretch of track that curved.”

“And points.” John adds.

“Exactly.” Sherlock says.

“D’you have it, then? The memory stick?” John asks. Joe nods.

“Fetch it for me – if you wouldn’t mind.” Sherlock says. Joe stands up, sighing unhappily, walks into another room. Sherlock walks closer to us. “Distraction over, the game continues.” He says softly.

“Well, maybe that’s over, too. We’ve heard nothing from the bomber.” John says.

“Five pips, remember, John? It’s a countdown. We’ve only had four.”

Later that night, we are in our coats. Sherlock is sitting in his armchair with his feet up on the seat and his arms folded tightly around him, trying to conserve heat. The pink phone is on the arm of the chair. John is sitting at the dining table, typing on his laptop. I am laying on the couch, looking up at the boys. The TV is on and a Jerry Springer/Jeremy Kyle-type show is playing. As the audience boos noisily, Sherlock yells indignantly at the telly. “No, no, no! Of course he’s not the boy’s father!” He gestures at the screen. “Look at the turn-ups on his jeans!” He sighs and folds his arms.

John looks round to see what Sherlock is protesting about and then goes back to his typing. “Knew it was dangerous.”

“Hmm?” Sherlock asks.

“Getting you into crap telly.” John says.

“Hmmm. Not a patch on Connie Prince.” Sherlock says.

“Have you given Mycroft the memory stick yet?” John asks.

“Yep. He was over the moon. Threatened me with a knighthood – again.” Sherlock says. I look over at him and frown. That didn’t sound like Mycroft at all. Sherlock was lying.

“You know, I’m still waiting.” John says.

“Hmm?” Sherlock asks.

“For you to admit that a little knowledge of the solar system and you’d have cleared up the fake painting a lot quicker.” John explains.

“Didn’t do you any good, did it?” Sherlock asks.

“No, but I’m not the world’s only consulting detective.” John says.

“True.” Sherlock says and smiles.

John closes the lid of his laptop and now stands up. “I won’t be in for tea. I’m going to Sarah’s. There’s still some of that risotto left in the fridge.” John explains to us. I get up.

“Don’t worry. I am going to Croft’s.” I say softly.

“Mmm!” Sherlock says, still watching the TV.

John stops at the door. “Uh, milk. We need milk.” John tells Sherlock.

“I’ll get some.” Sherlock says.

We turn back to Sherlock with a look of disbelief. “Really?” John asks.

“Really.” Sherlock says.

“And some beans, then?” John asks.

“Mmm.” Sherlock says, still not looking away from the TV. John hesitates, still surprised, but then nods and walks away.

I move my arm into John’s arm as we walk down the sidewalk. We don’t get far when we both get hit on the head and black out.

I wake up tied to the chair. I have a bomb to my chest. I look over and see John still passed out with a bomb on his chest. I look around and see Jim from the hospital. “W-What is going on?”

He smiles at me and stands me up. “Oh don’t worry darling. It will be alright. Except it won’t” He says and laughs. Jim puts on a hooded jacket on me and leads me to an entrance to the pool. He jams an ear piece into my ear. “Just do as I say and no one will get hurt Miss Adler.” I nod and wait.

“Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present. Oh, that’s what it’s all been for, hasn’t it? All your little puzzles; making me dance – all to distract me from this.” I hear Sherlock say loudly.

“Okay now go my darling.” I hear in my ear and walk out and turn to Sherlock. Sherlock looks at me over his shoulder in shock.

“Evening.” I say softly. Sherlock’s raised hand begins to lower slowly but otherwise he doesn’t move, still staring over his shoulder in utter disbelief. “This is a turn-up, isn’t it, Sherlock?”

“Calliah. What the hell…” Sherlock says softly and shocked.

Finally Sherlock manages to move, and starts to walk slowly towards the woman he had believed to be his friend until now. The shock and bewilderment on his face make him look about twelve years old. Then, with a look of despair that matches Sherlock’s, I takes my hands from my pockets and pulls open my jacket to reveal the bomb strapped to my chest. A sniper’s laser immediately begins to dance around over the bomb. “What…. Would you like me … to make her say … next?” I ask. Sherlock continues to step towards me but now he is looking everywhere but at me as he tries to see who else is in the area. “Gottle o’ geer ... gottle o’ geer ... gottle o’ geer.” I say, my voice breaking at the last phrase.

“Stop it.” Sherlock says.

“Nice touch, this: the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him.” I cringe at the next words. “I can stop Calliah Mullen too.” I tear up and look down at the laser point on my chest. “Stop her heart. John Watson’s too.” John steps out the way I did too with a bomb on his chest. I sob when I see him.

Sherlock turns on the spot as he tries to look in all directions. “Who are you?” He asks.

A door opens at the far end of the pool and a soft male voice with an Irish accent speaks from that direction. “I gave you my number. I thought you might call.” The man says plaintively. Sherlock turns towards the new arrival, who now slowly walks out into the open. I turn and look and see him casually being to stroll alongside the deep end of the pool, heading towards us. “Is that British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket ...” Sherlock reaches down to his trouser pocket and removes a pistol from it. ... or are you just pleased to see me?” Jim asks, with all hint of plaintiveness gone from his voice.

Sherlock raises the pistol and aiming it towards Jim “Both.”

Jim stops and looks back at him, unafraid. “Jim Moriarty. Hi!” Sherlock tilts his head as he looks more closely at the man. Jim acts as if he needs to remind Sherlock who he is. “Jim? Jim from the hospital?” He begins to walk alongside the deep end again. Sherlock brings up his other hand to support the one aiming the gun. Jim bites his lip as if disappointed. “Oh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point.” He turns to face Sherlock just as the sniper’s laser flickers over my upper chest. Sherlock briefly turns his head towards me, a questioning look on his face. Jim starts walking again. “Don’t be silly. Someone else is holding the rifle. I don’t like getting my hands dirty.” He reaches the corner of the pool and stops. “I’ve given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I’ve got going on out there in the big bad world. I’m a specialist, you see ...” He looks surprised, as if he has only just realized the connection. “... like you!”

“’Dead Jim. Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover’s nasty sister?’” Sherlock says. Starting to walk forward again, Jim grins. “’Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?’”

Jim stops. “Just so.”

“Consulting criminal.” Sherlock says softly. “Brilliant.”

Jim smiles proudly. “Isn’t it? No-one ever gets to me – and no-one ever will.”

Sherlock cocks the pistol. “I did.”

“You’ve come the closest. Now you’re in my way.” Jim says.

“Thank you.” Sherlock says.

“Didn’t mean it as a compliment.” Jim says.

“Yes you did.” Sherlock says.

Jim shrugs. “Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting’s over, Sherlock.” He says. “Daddy’s had enough now!” Jim’s voice becomes high-pitched and sing-song. He starts to stroll closer. “I’ve shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play.” He says in his normal voice. Sherlock’s eyes flickers across to John and me a couple of times as he tries to keep his focus on the man approaching them. “So take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off.” He smiles. “Although I have loved this – this little game of ours.” He says. “Playing Jim from I.T.” He says in the London accent. “Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?” He says in his Irish accent.

“People have died.” Sherlock says.

“That’s what people DO!” He yells the last word furiously.

“I will stop you.” Sherlock says softly.

“No you won’t.” Jim says calm.

Sherlock looks at John and me. “You two alright?” I keep my gaze away from him since Jim said I couldn’t talk to him.

Jim walks forward again and reaches his side. “You can talk, Callie. Go ahead.”

I meet Sherlock’s eyes and nod once. Sherlock takes one hand off the pistol and holds out the memory stick towards Jim. I knew he lied. “Take it.”

“Huh? Oh! That!” Jim says. He strolls past John and me and reaches out for the stick, grinning. “The missile plans!” He takes the stick from Sherlock’s fingers and brings it to his mouth, kissing it. Jim lowers the memory stick and looks at it. “Boring!” Jim says sing-song and shakes his head. “I could have got them anywhere.” He nonchalantly tosses the stick into the pool. I see my opportunity and race forward and slam myself up against Jim’s back, wrapping one arm around his neck and the other around his chest. Sherlock backs up a step in surprise but keeps the pistol raised and aimed at Jim.

“Sherlock, run! Take John.”

Jim laughs in delight. “Good! Very good.” Sherlock doesn’t move, still aiming his gun at Jim’s head but now starting to look a little anxiously.

“If your sniper pulls that trigger, Jim, then we both go up.” I say savagely.

“Isn’t she sweet? I can see why you like having him around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets, or even their brother’s pets.” I pull him even closer onto the bomb so it is sandwiched between us. Jim scowls at me. “They’re so touchingly cute. But, oops!” He grins at me and then looks at Sherlock. “You’ve rather shown your hand there, Miss Mullen.” He chuckles as a new laser point appears in the middle of Sherlock’s forehead. I stare in horror as Jim looks round at him expectantly. Sherlock shakes his head. “Gotcha!” Jim says sing-song. I release my grip on him and step back. I hold my hands up to signal that I won’t do anything else. Jim glances round at me, then back towards Sherlock. “Westwood!” He says and stands in front of Sherlock, who is still aiming the pistol at Jim’s head. “D’you know what happens if you don’t leave me alone, Sherlock, do you?”

“Oh, let me guess: I get killed.” Sherlock says, sounding bored.

“Kill you?” Jim asks and grimaces. “N-No, don’t be obvious. I’m going to kill you anyways someday. I don’t wanna rush it, though. I’m saving it up for something special. No-no-no-no-no. If you don’t stop prying, I’ll burn you.” He says. His voice becomes vicious as he says, “I’ll burn the heart out of you.”

“I have been reliably informed that I don’t have one.” Sherlock says softly.

“But we both know that’s not quite true.” Sherlock blinks involuntarily. Jim looks down and then shrugs. “Well, I’d better be off.” He nonchalantly looks around before turning back to Sherlock. “Well, so nice to have had a proper chat.”

Sherlock raises the pistol higher and extends it closer to Jim’s head. “What if I was to shoot you now – right now?”

“Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face. Cause I’d be surprised, Sherlock; really I would. And just a teensy bit disappointed. And of course you wouldn’t be able to cherish it for very long.” I hear him walking. “Ciao, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock steps forward. “Catch…you…later.”

The door opens and Jim’s voice can be heard, high-pitched and sing-song. “No you won’t!” The door closes. Sherlock doesn’t move for a few seconds, his gun still aimed towards the door, then his gaze drifts across to John and me and he instantly bends, putting the pistol on the floor, then drops to his knees in front of John as he starts unfastening the vest to which the bomb is attached. I start trying to do mine. 

“All right?” He asks John and me. John tilts his head back, breathing heavily. “Are you two all right?”

“Yeah-yeah, I’m fine.” Having unfastened the vest, Sherlock jumps up and hurries round behind John, starting to pull the jacket and the bomb vest off in one go. “I’m fine.” Sherlock, also breathing too fast, continues trying to tug the jacket and vest off. “Sherlock.” Finally Sherlock manages to roughly strip the jacket and vest off John’s arms. “Sh-Sherlock!” Sherlock bends and skims the items as far away along the floor as he can, while John staggers at the vehemence with which his friend just ripped them off him. Sherlock comes to me and helps me. “Jesus.” John says softly. He gets it off of me and throws it with the other one. I reach up and pull the earpiece from my ear. I breathe heavily as delayed shock began to hit me. I sit down and bring my knees to my chest. Sherlock hurries back to pick up the pistol before racing towards the door that Moriarty left though. John’s knees buckle and he staggers to one of the changing cubicles. “Oh, Christ.”  He turns and drops down into a squat, bracing his back against the cubicle’s edge as he blows out a long breath and tries to calm himself down. Sherlock comes back in. He starts to pace up and down near John and me, so hyper and distracted that he doesn’t even realize that he is scratching his head with the business end of a loaded and cocked pistol. “Are you okay?” John asks breathlessly.

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine. Fine.” Sherlock says, quick fire. He looks at me, wide-eyed and breathless. “That, er… thing that you, er, that you did; um…” He clears his throat. “… you offered to do. That was, um… good.” I nod and look around.

“I’m glad no-one saw that.” John says, staring blankly ahead.

Sherlock had temporarily lowered his hand long enough to not be risking accidentally shooting himself in the head – although he had terrible jitters as he held the gun down by his side. Now he lifts the gun again as he raises his hand to rub his chin while looking down at John in confusion. “Hmm?”

“You, ripping mine and Calliah’s clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk.” John explains, still not meeting anyone’s eyes.

Sherlock shrugs. “People do little else.” He looks down at John and me, then grins.

John snorts laughter, then leans forward and prepares to stand up. Before he can move, the beam from a sniper’s laser begins to dance over his chest. I look down and see the same thing. I let out a sob. A door near the deep end of the pool opens and Jim comes through clapping his hands together and turns to face us. “Sorry, boys and girl! I’m soooo changeable!” Jim says cheerfully. John grimaces in disbelief. Sherlock keeps his back to Jim, looking up into the gallery. Jim laughs and spread his arms wide. “It is a weakness with me but, to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness.” He lowers his hands and puts them into his pockets. Sherlock looks at John and then me. “You can’t be allowed to continue. You just can’t. I would try to convince you but…” He laughs and his voice becomes sing-song again. “…everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!” Sherlock turns to John. John responds instantly with a tiny nod.

Sherlock turns and face Jim. “Probably my answer has crossed yours.” He raises the pistol and aims it at him. Jim smiles confidently, with no fear in his expression. Slowly Sherlock lowers the pistol downwards until it’s pointing directly at the bomb jacket. Jim tilts his head, looking a little anxious for the first time. As Sherlock holds his hand steady, continuing to aim towards the jacket, Jim lifts his head and locks eyes with Sherlock. Jim begins to smile and Sherlock’s eyes narrow slightly. The song ‘Stayin’ Alive’ begins to place tinnily. Sherlock, John and I look around confused. Jim briefly closes his eyes and sighs in exasperation. “D’you mind if I get that?”

“No, no, please. You’ve got the rest of your life.” Sherlock says nonchalantly.

Jim takes his phone from his pocket and answers it. “Hello?...Yes, of course it is. What do you want?” He mouths ‘sorry’ at Sherlock, who sarcastically mouths ‘Oh, it’s fine’ back at him. Jim rolls his eyes as he listens to the phone, turning away from us for a moment, then he spins back around, his face full of fury. “SAY THAT AGAIN!” He yells loudly into the phone. Sherlock and I frown. “Say that again, and know that if you’re lying to me, I will find you and I will ssssskin you.” He says venomously into the phone. Sherlock looks at John for a moment. “Wait.” Jim says into the phone. He lowers the phone and begins to walk forward. Sherlock looks at the bomb jackets and fretfully adjusts the grip on his pistol as Jim approaches. Jim stops at the jackets and gazes down at the ground thoughtfully before lifting his eyes to Sherlock. “Sorry. Wrong day to die.” Jim tells us.

“Oh. Did you get a better offer?” Sherlock asks casually.

Jim looks down at the phone, then turns and slowly starts to walk away. “You’ll be hearing from me, Sherlock.” He trolls back around the pool towards the door through which he originally came, lifting the phone to his ear again. “So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don’t, I’ll make you into shoes.” Jim says into the phone. Reaching the door, he raises his free hand and clicks his fingers. Instantly all the lasers focused on Sherlock and John disappear. As Jim walks through the door and vanishes from sight, Sherlock looks around the pool but can see no sign of the retreating snipers. John sighs out a relieved breath.

“What happened there?” John asks.

“Someone changed his mind. The question is: who?” Sherlock says.

Later on that night, Sherlock, John, and I were at the flat. I was sitting on the couch, changed into sweat pants and a sweat shirt, with my hair up. I was playing with my phone. I was thinking about calling Mycroft to come pick me up, but didn’t know if I should. I didn’t want to keep running to him when I was hurt.

“Just call him.” I hear Sherlock say. I look up and see Sherlock looking at me. I look around for John and see that he isn’t there. “He went to bed an hour ago. You were doing the same thing you are doing now.” Sherlock explains. I nod and look at my phone. I should call him. I sigh and place my head in my hands. “Thank you again for doing that thing.” I hear. I nod.

“I didn’t want us all to die there. If I could save you two then I would.” I say and grab my phone.

_Please come. CM_

I sigh and lay down on my side. I hear feet coming up the stairs and sit up. The door opens and I see Mycroft. I let out a sob and run over to him. He holds me and rubs my back. “Shh. It’s okay.” He says softly. I nod and close my eyes. “Let’s go to your room.” He says softly. I nod and leave his arms and look at Sherlock. He was looking at Mycroft with rage.

“Night Sherlock.” I say and leave the room. I get to my room and sit on my bed. After a minute Mycroft comes in and shuts my door. “I was so scared Croft.” I tell him. He changes into his pajamas and comes over to the bed. He sits down and pulls me to his lap. “I thought I was going to die.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help. My men lost track of you and we couldn’t track you down. I failed you.” He says softly.

I look up and frown. “You shouldn’t have to watch me 24/7.” I tell him.

“Dating me and living with my brother makes your life a risk. You shouldn’t have to deal with us.” He tells me.

“I want to. You saved me and keep saving me each day. Sherlock is so amazing. He learned it all from you. You two have made my life amazing.” I tell him. He looks down and kisses me. I kiss him back and he deepens it. After a couple seconds, he pulls back. I giggle and snuggle into him. “Let’s go to bed Croft.” He nods and lays us down. “Thank you for saving me.”

“No, thank you for saving me and my brother.” He says as I fall asleep.


	18. Chapter 18

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the first part of A Scandal in Belgravia. The introduction of Irene. Duh Duh Duh**

**I own nothing, except Calliah**

It was May 30th. John was sitting at the living room table, updating his blog on his laptop. Sherlock, wearing a red dressing gown over his shirt and trousers, is sitting at the other side of the table drinking from a mug while leafing through a newspaper. I was sitting on the couch reading Mansfield Park by Jane Austen.

“What are you typing?” Sherlock asks John.

“Blog.” John says.

“About?” Sherlock asks.

“Us.” John says.

“You mean me.” Sherlock says.

“Why?” I ask.

“Well, he is typing a lot.” Sherlock says. The doorbell rings. “Right then.” He walks towards the door. “So, what have we got?”

Over the weeks, people have been coming here to consult with Sherlock. We place each of them on a dining chair facing the fireplace as he or she speaks. Sherlock sat in his chair, John in his, and I sat on one of the arms of the boy’s chair.

_“My wife seems to be spending a very long time at the office.” A man says._

_“Boring.” Sherlock says_

_“I think my husband might be having an affair.” A woman says._

_“Yes.” Sherlock says._

_“She’s not my real aunt. She’s been replaced – I know she has. I know human ash.” A creepy guy, holding a funeral urn, says._

_Sherlock points to the door. “Leave.”_

_“We are prepared to offer any sum of money you care to mention for the recovery of these files.” A businessman, who has two aids standing behind him, says._

_“Boring.” Sherlock says._

“We have this website. It explains the true meaning of comic books, ‘cause people miss a lot of the themes.” A geeky young man, which two other geeky young men standing behind him, says. Sherlock has already walked away, disinterested. “But then all the comic books started coming true.” The geek continues. Sherlock comes back.

“Oh. Interesting.”

Later, John is sitting in his chair and updating his blog. I lay on the couch and pick up my book. Sherlock leans over John’s shoulder. “’Geek Interpreter.’ What’s that?” He asks.

“It’s the title.” John explains.

“What does it need a title for?” Sherlock asks. John smiles tightly. Sherlock straightens up and walks away.

I look over. “I like the title John.” He looks over and smiles.

 

Later, we are at the morgue. Sherlock is using his magnifier to look at a woman’s body on the table. John is standing at the other side of the table and Greg is nearby. I was sitting aways. I didn’t like being here on my day off.

“Do people actually read you blog?” Sherlock asks John.

“Where d’you think our clients come from?” John asks.

“I have a website.” Sherlock says.

“In which you enumerate two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash. Nobody’s reading your website.” John says. Sherlock straightens up and glares at him, then pouts momentarily as John continues to look at the body. “Right then: dyed blonde hair; no obvious cause of death except for these speckles, whatever they are.” He points at the tiny red marks on the woman’s body but Sherlock has already turned and flounced out of the room.

Later we are back at the flat. John is updating his blog again. Sherlock walks past, eating a piece of toast. He stops and looks at the computer. “Oh, for God’s sakes!” He says with a mouth full.

“What?” John asks.

“’The Speckled Blonde’?” Sherlock asks. John purses his lips as Sherlock walks away again. I laugh and go back to my book.

The next day, two little girls are sitting together on one of the dining chairs while Sherlock paces in front of the fireplace. “They wouldn’t let us see Granddad when he was dead. Is that ‘cause he’s gone to heaven?” one of the little girls ask.

“People don’t really go to heaven when they die. They’re taken to a special room and burned.” Sherlock informs them. I gasp at him.

The two girls look at each other in distress.

“Sherlock…” I say reprovingly.

 

Greg is leading us across some open ground. “There was a plane crash in Dusseldorf yesterday. Everyone dead.” Greg explains.

“Suspected terrorist bomb. We do watch the news.” Sherlock says.

“You said, ‘Boring’ and turned over.” I say.

Greg leads us to a car which has it boot opened. There’s a body inside. While Greg continues to speak, Sherlock looks all around the rear of the car. Greg looks at a bag of evidence. “Well, according to the flight details, this man was checked in on board. Inside his coat he’s got a stub from his boarding pass, napkins from the flight, even one of those special biscuits. Here’s his passport stamped in Berlin Airport. So this man should have died in a plane crash in Germany yesterday but instead he’s in a car boot in Southwark.” He tells us.

“Lucky escape.” John says.

“Any ideas?” Greg asks Sherlock.

Sherlock is looking at the man’s hand with his magnifier. “Eight, so far.”  He straightens up and looks at the body again, then frowns momentarily. “Okay, four ideas.” He turns to Lestrade and looks down at the passport and the ticket stub of the passenger, John Coniston, who was meant to be travelling on Flyaway Airways. Straightening up again, he gazes up into the sky. “Maybe two ideas.” The shadow of a passenger jet passes overhead.

Back at the flat, Sherlock – wearing heavy protective gloves and safety glasses and carrying a blowtorch in one hand and a glass container of green liquid in the other – has come to the living room table to look at John’s latest blog entry. “No, no, no, don’t mention the unsolved ones.” Sherlock says indignantly. I laugh and see him glare at me. I shrug and keep laughing.

“People want to know you’re human.” John explains.

“Why?” Sherlock and I ask at the same time.

“’Cause they’re interested.” John tells us.

“No they’re not. Why are they?” Sherlock asks.

John smiles at his laptop. “Look at that. One thousand, eight hundred and ninety- five.”

“Sorry what?” Sherlock asks.

“I re-set that counter last night. This blog has had nearly two thousand hits in the last eight hours. This is your living, Sherlock – not two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash.” John tells him.

“Two hundred and forty-three.” Sherlock says sulkily. He fires up the blowtorch and puts his safety glasses back on and heads back towards the kitchen.

We are walking across the stage of a theatre while police officers mill around nearby.

“So what’s this one? ‘Belly Button Murders’?” Sherlock asks John.

“’The Navel Treatment’?” John offers up. I laugh and John smiles at me.

“Eurgh!” Sherlock yells.

We walk backstage and meet up with Greg as we head for the exit. “There’s a lot of press outside, guys.”

“Well, they won’t be interested in us.” Sherlock lets him.

“Yeah, that was before you were an internet phenomenon. A couple of them specifically wanted photographs of you three.” Greg tells us.

Sherlock glares at John. “For God’s sake!” he says exasperated. John quirks a smile as we walk on. Sherlock goes into a side room and comes out with three hats. “John.” He throws a cap at John. “Calliah.”  He throws a beret at me. “Cover your face and walk fast. Keep Calliah between us.”

“Still, it’s good for the public image, a big case like this.” Greg says.

“I’m a private detective. The last thing I need is a public image.” He says and he puts on the other hat that he had picked up – a deerstalker – and heads out the exit door pulling the hat as low as possible over his eyes and tugging the collar of his coat up. Outside, photographers start taking pictures of all three of us.

The next day, I get up and go to the kitchen and get a cup of coffee. I hear Sherlock and John talking in the living room so I go in there. I frown as I see Sherlock in a sheet sitting at the table. I come in and cough. Sherlock waves a hand at me. I sigh and come over to him. I see John on the computer. “Morning John.” I smile. He smiles back.

“There’s no point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven. We agreed. Now, go back. Show me the grass.” Sherlock tells John.

John has walked down to the stream and is Skypeing with Sherlock. He points the camera on his own laptop towards the grass at the stream’s edge and squats down. “When did we agree that?”

“We agreed it yesterday. Stop!” Sherlock explains. I laugh as he leans closer to the screen and looks at the mud on the ground. “Closer.”

Instead of following his instructions, John swings the laptop around so that he can look into the camera. “I wasn’t even at home yesterday. I was in Dublin.”

“Well, it’s hardly my fault you weren’t listening.” The doorbell rings more insistently. Sherlock briefly looks round in the direction of the stairs. “SHUT UP!” Sherlock yells angrily. I jump and Sherlock looks at me apologetic.

“D’you just carry on talking when Calliah and I are away?” John asks.

Sherlock shrugs. “I don’t know. How often are you two away? Now, show me the car that backfired.”

Sighing, John stands up and turns the laptop and its camera towards the road to show Phil’s car. “It’s there.”

“That’s the one that made the noise, yes?” Sherlock asks.

John swings the camera back around to look into it. “Yeah. And if you’re thinking gunshot, there wasn’t one. He wasn’t shot; he was killed by a single blow to the back of the head from a blunt instrument which then magically disappeared along with the killer. That’s gotta be an eight at least.” Sherlock has leaned back in his chair and is running his finger back and forth over his top lip as he thinks. As John walks back towards the road, a man follows along behind him.

“You’ve got two more minutes, then I want to know more about the driver.” The man says.

Sherlock waves his hand dismissively. “Oh, forget him. He’s an idiot. Why else would he think himself a suspect?”

The man catches up to John and leans over to look into the camera. “I think he’s a suspect!” He says.

Sherlock leans forward angrily. “Pass me over.”

“All right, but there’s a Mute button and I will use it.” John says.

He tilts the laptop at an angle that Sherlock’s not happy with. “Up a bit! I’m not talking from down ’ere!” Sherlock says irritated.

John offers the laptop to the man. “Okay, just take it, take it.”

The man takes the laptop as Sherlock starts talking at double the usual speed. “Having driven to an isolated location and successfully committed a crime without a single witness, why would he then call the police and consult a detective? Fair play?”

“He’s trying to be clever. It’s over-confidence.” The man says. I roll my eyes.

“Did you see him? Morbidly obese, the undisguised halitosis of a single man living on his own, the right sleeve of an internet porn addict and the breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition. Low self-esteem, tiny IQ and a limited life expectancy – and you think he’s an audacious criminal mastermind?!” He turns around to John’s chair where another man is sitting. I look over and smile. He smiles back softly. “Don’t worry – this is just stupid.”

“What did you say? Heart what?” The man in the living asks, anxiously.

Sherlock ignores him and turns back to the computer. “Go to the stream.”

“What’s in the stream?” The man at the crime scene asks.

“Go and see.” Sherlock tells him.

The man hands the laptop back to John. Mrs. Hudson comes up the stairs. I look over and see two men wearing suits following her. “Sherlock! Calliah! You weren’t answering your doorbell!”

One of the men, who I knew as Plummer, looked at his colleague while pointing with his finger to the kitchen. “His room’s through the back. Get him some clothes.” Plummer says.

“Who the hell are you?” Sherlock asks.

“Sorry, Mr. Holmes. Miss Mullen. You two are coming with us.” Plummer says. I nod and get up.

“I’ll change.” I say and run to my room. I knew that Mycroft need us to hurry so I grabbed one of my best dresses, a pale dress with lace on the top of it, a pair of nude pumps. I get back to the living room and smile and see that the boys were trying to convince Sherlock to get dressed. “Oh, I know exactly where we’re going.” He smiles at me. I roll my eyes and follow Plummer to the car.

We get to Buckingham Palace and we sit on a couch. Sherlock was still in his sheet and I just laugh. “What?” Sherlock asks me.

“You are in a sheet in Buckingham Palace.” I say, laughing.

He smirks. “Points for originality?” He asks and I nod. I see John come in and Sherlock looks across to John calmly. John holds out his hands in a “What the hell?!” gesture. Sherlock shrugs disinterestedly and looks away again. Nodding in a resigned way, John walks slowly into the room, then sits down on the sofa beside his friend. He gazes in front of himself for a moment, chewing back a giggle, looks around the room again and then looks at Sherlock, peering closely at his sheet and particularly the section wrapped around his backside. He turns his head away again.

“Are you wearing any pants?” John asks.

“No.” Sherlock simply says.

“Okay.” John says. He looks over at me. “You look nice. Not that you don’t usually look bad.” He says and blushes.

I laugh and smile. “Thanks John.”

He sighs quietly. A moment later Sherlock turns and looks at him just as John also turns to look. Their eyes meet and they promptly burst out laughing. I laugh and look around. I hadn’t been here yet. Maybe I could get an invite later.

“At Buckingham Palace, fine.” John says gesturing around the building. He tries to get himself under control. “Oh, I’m seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray.” Sherlock chuckles again. “What are we doing here Sherlock? Seriously, what?”

“I don’t know.” Sherlock says, still smiling.

“Here to see the Queen?” John ask. At that moment, Mycroft walks in from the next room. I smile and he ignores me.

“Oh, apparently yes.” Sherlock says beside me. I lift up my hand and slap the back of his head. “Ouch!”

John cracks up again and Sherlock promptly joins in. The two of them continue to giggle as Mycroft looks at them in exasperation.

“Just once, can you two behave like grown-ups? Calliah isn’t having any trouble.” Mycroft says. I grin and sit up straighter.

“We solve crimes, I blog about it and he forgets his pants, so I wouldn’t hold out too much hope. Calliah is the only saving grace in the group.” John says.

Sherlock looks up at his brother as Mycroft walks into the room, all humour gone from his face. “I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft.

“What, the hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report. Bit obvious, surely?” Mycroft asks.

“Transparent.” Sherlock says.

John looks startled.

“Time to move on, then.” Mycroft says. He bends down and picks up the clothes and shoes from the table, turning to offer them to Sherlock. Sherlock gazes at them uninterestedly. Mycroft sighs. “We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation.” He says. “Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on.” He says sternly. I giggle at that. I never thought I would hear my boyfriend say that sentence.

Sherlock shrugs. “What for?”

“Your client.” Mycroft says.

Sherlock stands up. “And my client is?”

“Illustrious…” I hear. I turn and see a man who has just walked into the room. “…in the extreme.” John and I stand up respectfully. “And remaining – I have to inform you – entirely anonymous.” He looks to Mycroft. “Mycroft.”

“Harry.” Mycroft greets the man and walks over and shakes the man’s hand, smiling. “May I just apologize for the state of my little brother?”

“Full-time occupation, I imagine.” Harry says. I giggles as Sherlock scowls. “And this must be Doctor John Watson, formerly of Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.”

“Hello, yes.” John says and they shake hands.

“My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog.” Harry says.

John looks startled. “Your employer?”

            “Particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminum crutch.” Harry says.

“Thank you!” John says.

Harry looks at me and smiles. “And this must be the Calliah Muller that I have heard so much about.”

I blush and curtsy. “Yes sir.”

He chuckles. “No need to call me sir young lady. Mycroft has told me all about you.” He says and winks. I blush and look at Mycroft who was looking away.

Harry turns to Sherlock and clears his throat smugly. He walks closer to Sherlock. “And Mr. Holmes the younger. You look taller in your photographs.”

“I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend.”  Sherlock says and looks at John and abruptly passes him and approaches Mycroft. “Mycroft, I don’t do anonymous clients. I’m used to mystery at one end of my cases. Both ends is too much work.” He looks round to Harry. “Good morning.”

He starts to walk out of the room but Mycroft steps onto the trailing edge of the sheet behind him. Sherlock’s impetus carries him forward while pulling the sheet off his body. He stops and grabs at it before he’s completely naked and tries to tug it back around himself, looking furious. I gasps and look at Mycroft. “This is a matter of national importance. Grow up.” Mycroft says.

With his back still turned to his brother, Sherlock speaks through gritted teeth. “Get off my sheet!”

“Or what?” Mycroft asks.

“Or I’ll just walk away.” Sherlock threatens.

“I’ll let you.” Mycroft says.

I sigh. “Boys, please. Not here.” I say.

“Who. Is. My. Client?” Sherlock asks, almost incandescent with rage.

“Take a look at where you’re standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for God’s sake ...” He breaks off and glances at Harry and me briefly, trying to get his anger under control before he turns back to his brother again. “... put your clothes on!” Sherlock closes his eyes furiously, then pulls in a sharp breath.

Sherlock goes and puts on clothes. I go over to Mycroft. “So you talk about me with people?” I ask softly.

He looks down and smiles. “Of course, Ardaigh.” He says softly. “Can we go out to dinner tonight?”

“Of course.” I say and grin. I look around and see no one is looking at us and I kiss his cheek quickly. I go back and sit on the couch as Sherlock comes back. He sits by me and looks at me.

“Why are you blushing? Why is Mycroft blushing?” He asks. I shake my head and giggle.

Mycroft and Harry sit on the couch on the other side of the table. Mycroft is pouring tea for everyone, except me. He made sure I got coffee. He looks at Harry and smiles. “I’ll be mother.”

“And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell.” Sherlock says pointedly. I reach up and slap the back of his head. “Ouch!” Mycroft smiles at me and puts the teapot down. Harry looks at Sherlock.

“My employer has a problem.” Harry explains.

“A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature, and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen.” Mycroft says.

“Why? You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally Secret Service. Why come to me?” Sherlock asks.

“People do come to you for help, don’t they, Mr Holmes?” Harry asks.

“Not, to date, anyone with a Navy.” Sherlock says.

“This is a matter of the highest security, and therefore of trust.” Mycroft says.

“You don’t trust your own Secret Service?” John asks.

“Naturally not. They all spy on people for money.” Mycroft explains.

John bites back a smile.

“I do think we have a timetable.” Harry asks.

Mycroft looks at me and frowns. “Yes, of course. Um ...” He opens his briefcase, takes out a glossy photograph and hands it to Sherlock who looks at the picture of Irene Adler. I look over and gasps. I look up at Mycroft, who isn’t looking at me “What do you know about this woman?”

“Nothing whatsoever.” Sherlock says. I look away and try to control my tears. Why my sister. Why couldn’t it be anyone else?

“Then you should be paying more attention.” Mycroft says softly. I knew he felt bad, but I couldn’t look at him now. “She’s been at the centre of two political scandals in the last year, and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both participants separately.”

“You know I don’t concern myself with trivia. Who is she?” Sherlock asks.

“Irene Adler, professionally known as The Woman.” Mycroft says. I look over and catches his eyes. He looked apologetic.

“Professionally?” John asks.

“There are many names for what she does. She prefers ‘dominatrix’.” Mycroft explains. I nod slightly.

“Dominatrix.” Sherlock says thoughtlfully.

“Don’t be alarmed. It’s to do with sex.” Mycroft says.

“Sex doesn’t alarm me.” Sherlock says.

“How would you know?” Mycroft asks and smiles snidely at him. Sherlock raises his head and stares at his brother. I roll my eyes. Mycroft was a virgin too, so I don’t understand why he was making those remarks to Sherlock. “She provides – shall we say – recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it.” He takes more photographs from his briefcase and hands them to Sherlock. “These are all from her website.” Sherlock takes the photographs and leafs through them. I look over and frown. She was still as beautiful as the day I left. They are professional-looking publicity shots for her ‘services’ and show Irene at her glamorous and sexy best. I close my eyes and sighs.

“And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs.” Sherlock says.

“You’re very quick, Mr. Holmes.” Harry says.

“Hardly a difficult deduction. Photographs of whom?” Sherlock asks.

“A person of significance to my employer. We’d prefer not to say any more at this time.” Harry says.

Sherlock glares at him angrily and puts the photographs down on the table. I lean forward and turn them over. Sherlock looks at me confused and then looks away.

“You can’t tell us anything?” John asks.

“I can tell you it’s a young person.” Mycroft says and looks at me. John picks up his teacup and takes a drink. “A young female person.” John’s eyes widen and Sherlock and I smirk.

“How many photographs?” Sherlock asks.

“A considerable number, apparently.” Mycroft says.

“Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?” Sherlock asks.

“Yes, they do.” Mycroft says.

“And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios.” Sherlock assumes.

“An imaginative range, we are assured.” Mycroft says.

“John, you might want to put that cup back in your saucer now.” John quickly does as advised.

“Can you help us, Mr Holmes?” Harry asks.

“How?” Sherlock asks.

“Will you take the case?” Harry asks.

“What case? Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, ‘Know when you are beaten’.” Sherlock says. I shake my head, knowing my sister didn’t want the money. He turns and reaches for his overcoat which is draped on the back of the sofa.

“She doesn’t want anything.” Mycroft says. Sherlock turns back towards him. “She got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favour.”

“Oh, a power play. A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that is a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn’t it?” Sherlock asks. I frown and look down.

“Sherlock ...” John says.

“Hmm.” Sherlock says and turn around and reaches for his coat again. “Where is she?”

“Uh, in London currently. She’s staying ...” Mycroft starts to say.

Sherlock picks up his coat, stands and starts to walk away. “Text me the details. I’ll be in touch by the end of the day.” I scoff. The three other men stand up.

“Do you really think you’ll have news by then?” Harry asks.

Sherlock turns to him. “No, I think I’ll have the photographs.”

“One can only hope you’re as good as you seem to think.” Harry says.

Sherlock looks at him sharply. After a minute, he turns to Mycroft. “I’ll need some equipment, of course.”

“Anything you require. I’ll have it sent to…” Mycroft starts to say.

“Can I have a box of matches?” Sherlock interrupts and looks turns to Harry.

“I’m sorry?” Harry asks.

“Or your cigarette lighter. Either will do.” Sherlock says and holds out his hand.

“I don’t smoke.” Harry says.

“No, I know you don’t, but your employer does.” Sherlock explains.

Harry reaches into his pocket and takes out a lighter which he hands to Sherlock. “We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr. Holmes.” Harry says.

“I’m not the Commonwealth.” Sherlock says. He pockets the lighter and turns away.

“And that’s as modest as he gets. Pleasure to meet you.” John says to Harry and follows Sherlock. He turns back to me. “Calliah?” I jump and look at him. “Are you coming?”

“Oh, I’ll be there soon.” I say softly. John nods and leaves.

I hear Harry leaving and Mycroft comes over by me. He takes my hands in his. “Why?” I ask softly.

“I couldn’t tell them no. I’m so sorry Ardaigh.” He says. I nod and move into him. He holds me.

“I don’t want to see her.” I say softly.

“So don’t. Stay with me till this is done.” Mycroft offers.

I sigh and look up at him. “As much as I would love that, you know I can’t. I have to help Sherlock with the devil.” I sigh and look down. “God. This is harder than the pool.” I say softly. He lifts my head.

“We will get through this Ardaigh.” He says softly and kisses me. I kiss back. I pull back and rest my forehead on his.

“I have to go. I have to get ready.” I say.

“Come over. ‘Anthea’ will help you.” Mycroft offers. I nod and we go to his car.

‘Anthea’ meet us at the door of Mycroft’s house. She leads me the bedroom. She puts me into a one-shoulder black dress. The dress was covered in lace. She did my hair half-up and half-down and curled it so a couple curls framed my face. She did my make-up darker than I would do. She did purple eye liner and eye shadow. She put deep red lipstick on my lips. She put me in a pair of black heel boots, a black and white bracelet, a black necklace, and some black drop earrings. She gives me a black clutch and sends me out to Mycroft.

Mycroft looks at me and his mouth drops. I smirk. “Time for battle.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the next part of A Scandal in Belgravia.**

**I own nothing, except Calliah**

Mycroft drops me off my sister’s house. I sighed and looked at him. “I don’t wanna go.” I say.

He chuckles and kisses me softly. He pulls back and smiles. “You will be great. If it is just too much, call me. I will be here in a minute flat.” He says. I nod and kiss him again.

“Time to slay the dragon.” I say and get out. I ring the doorbell and wait. Kate opens the door and looks at me shocked. “Hello Kate. Is my sister in? Oh I know she is.” I say and move in. I go to the living room and see my sister on the chair, completely naked except for her heels. I walk in. “D’you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr. Holmes?” Irene asks Sherlock.

“However hard you try, it’s always a self-portrait.” I answer her question. John and Sherlock jump and look at me. Their mouths drop open. I ignore them and stare at Irene. She smirks.

“Little sister. You are here. I was wondering where you were.” Irene says.

“Just had to get some armor on, Irene.” I say.

She shakes her head and smirks. I sit down between the boys and cross my legs. “Y-You think I’m a vicar with a bleeding face?” Sherlock asks, trying to look away from me.

“No, I think you’re damaged, delusional and believe in a higher power. In your case, it’s yourself.” Sherlock unbuttons the top two buttons. Irene leans forward to try and get Sherlock’s attention. He glances at her. “Oh, and somebody loves you. Why, if I had to punch that face, I’d avoid your nose and teeth too.” She says and glances at John. She frowns and I look over. John was still staring at me. I smirk and he shakes his head.

“Could you put something on, please? Er, anything at all.” He looks down at what he’s holding. “A napkin.”

“Why? Are you feeling exposed?” Irene asks.

Sherlock stands up and helps me up. I smile at him. “I don’t think John knows where to look.” He picks up his coat, shakes it out and holds it out to Irene. She ignores him and stands up. I roll my eyes as she walks closer to John. He rolls his head on his neck uncomfortably and forces himself to maintain eye contact and not to let his eyes wander lower.

“No, I think he knows exactly where.” Irene says and turns to Sherlock. I look at him and see that is still holding out the coat while steadfastly keeping his gaze averted. She takes the coat. “I’m not sure about you.”

“If I wanted to look at naked women I’d borrow John’s laptop.” Sherlock says and I smile. He winks at me.

“You do borrow my laptop.” John says.

“I confiscate it.” Sherlock says and walks over to the fireplace opposite the sofa and I follow.

Irene puts to coat on and wraps it around her. “Well, never mind. We’ve got better things to talk about. Now tell me – I need to know.” She walks over to the sofa and sits down. “How was it done?”

“What?” Sherlock asks.

Irene takes off her shoes. “The hiker with the bashed-in head. How was he killed?”

The boys look confused. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“No, no, no, you’re here for the photographs but that’s never gonna happen, and since we’re here just chatting anyway…” Irene says.

“That story’s not been on the news yet. How do you know about it?” John asks.

“I know one of the policemen. Well, I know what he likes.” Irene says.

“Oh. And do you like policemen?” John asks.

“I like detective stories – and detectives. Brainy’s the new sexy.” Irene says and looks at Sherlock.

“Positionofthecar…” Sherlock says incoherently. We all stare at him while he quickly pulls himself together. I smile softly at him when he looks at me. He smiles back. “The position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire. That and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head. That’s all you need to know.”

“Okay, tell me: how was he murdered?” Irene asks.

“He wasn’t.” I say.

Sherlock and Irene look at me in shock. “You don’t think it was murder?” Irene asks.

“Sherlock and I know it wasn’t.” I say.

“How?” Irene asks.

“The same way that I know the victim was an excellent sportsman recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs I’m looking for are in this room.” Sherlock explains.

“Okay, but how?” Irene asks.

“So they are in this room. Thank you. John, man the door. Let no-one in.” Sherlock says. John and Sherlock exchange a significant look, then John gets up and puts the bowl and napkin on a table before leaving the room and closing the door behind him. Irene sits up straighter, looking suspiciously at the closed door. She glares at me and I smirk back.  Sherlock starts to pace again. “Two men alone in the countryside several yards apart, and one car.”

“Oh, I – I thought you were looking for the photos now.” Irene says.

“No, no. Looking takes ages. I’m just going to find them but you’re moderately clever and we’ve got a moment, so let’s pass the time.” He stops and turns to her. “Two men, a car, and nobody else.” He squats down and suddenly it’s as if he is at the crime scene, squatting down next to the driver’s door of Phil’s car. Inside, frozen in time, Phil’s face is screwed up with rage while his hands are raised, about to slam down angrily onto the steering wheel.

“The driver’s trying to fix his engine. Getting nowhere.” I say.

Straightening up, Sherlock turns and looks into the field. “And the hiker’s taking a moment, looking at the sky.” Now he’s down in the field, walking around the hiker. “Watching the birds?” He looks doubtful. “Any moment now, something’s gonna happen. What?”

Irene is sitting on her sofa. “The hiker’s going to die.”

“No, that’s the result.” I say. “What’s going to happen?”

“I don’t understand.” Irene says and I smirk.

“Oh, well, try to.” Sherlock says.

“Why?” Irene asks.

“Because you cater to the whims of the pathetic and take your clothes off to make an impression. Stop boring me and think.” He says. “It’s the new sexy, which Calliah is sexier than you.”

Irene glares at me angrily. “The car’s going to backfire.”

“There’s going to be a loud noise.” Sherlock fills in.

“So, what?” Irene asks.

“Oh, noises are important. Noises can tell you everything. For instance…” Sherlock says and he pauses dramatically and a moment later a smoke alarm starts to beep insistently from the hall. Irene turns and looks at the large mirror over the fireplace. Sherlock turns his head and follows her gaze. “Thank you. On hearing a smoke alarm, a mother would look towards her child. Amazing how fire exposes our priorities.” I laugh and watch Sherlock walk over to the fireplace and begins running his fingers underneath the mantelpiece. He finds a switch under there, he presses it and the mirror slides upwards, relieving a small wall safe behind it. Sherlock turns and looks at Irene as she stands up. “Really hope you don’t have a baby in here.” He says. I laugh and watch my sister start to panic a little. He calls out. “All right, John, you can turn it off now.” He waits a minute and the alarm is still going off. “I said you can turn it off now.” He calls out loudly.

“Give me a minute.” We hear John says.

Sherlock looks at the number pad on the front of the safe. “Hmm. Should always use gloves with these things, you know. Heaviest oil deposit’s always on the first key used – that’s quite clearly the three – but after that the sequence is almost impossible to read. I’d say from the make that it’s a six digit code. Can’t be your birthday – no disrespect but clearly you were born in the eighties; the eight’s barely used, so ...”

“I’d tell you the code right now but you know what? I already have.” Irene says as Sherlock frowns at her. “Think.”

The door bursts open and the leader of the group comes in and aims his pistol at Sherlock and me. “Hands behind your head.” He looks at Irene. “On the floor. Keep it still.” A second man goes over to Irene and walks her nearer to John who is being bundled in by a third man. A fourth man comes over to me and grabs my arm and pulls me to John.

I look up at him. “If I bruise, Mycroft Holmes will be after all your heads.” He makes me knee and I smile at John. “Having fun?”

Sherlock raises his hands and the main in charge looks to Irene. “Ms. Adler” He looks at me and I smile. “Well older Ms Adler, on the floor.” His colleague shoves her to her knees beside John.

“Don’t you want me on the floor too?” Sherlock asks.

“No, sir, I want you to open the safe.” The man in charge says.

“American. Interesting. Why would you care?” He glances at Irene.

“Sir, the safe, now, please.” Man in charge says.

“I don’t know the code.” Sherlock says.

“We’ve been listening. She said she told you.” Man in charge says.

“Well, if you’d been listening, you’d know she didn’t.” I say and roll my eyes. Man in charge looks at me and glares.

“I would keep my mouth shut Ms. Adler.” He says. He looks at Sherlock. “I’m assuming I misses something. From your reputation, I’m assuming you didn’t.”

“Well you know what they say about assuming…. You make an ass out of me and you.” I tell him and smirk when man in charge looks over.

He walks over to me and grabs my face. “If you don’t shut up, I will shoot you right now.” I roll my eyes. He walks over to where he was and looks at Sherlock.

“For God’s sake, Calliah shut up. Also, ask Irene what the code is. She’s the one who knows it.” John says.

I pout at him. “Yes, sir. She also knows the code that automatically calls the police and sets off the burglar alarm. I’ve learned not to trust this woman. Or her sister.” Man in charge says.

“Mr. Holmes doesn’t…” Irene starts to say.

“Shut up. One more word out of you – just one – and I will decorate that wall with the insides of your head. That, for me, will not be a hardship.” Sherlock glares at him ferociously. “Mr Archer. At the count of three, shoot Calliah Adler.”

“What?” I ask.

“I don’t have the code.” Sherlock says and looks at me.

I close my eyes as I feel the pistol on the back of my neck and hear him cock the gun. “One.” Man in charge says.

“I don’t know the code.” Sherlock says emphatically.

“Two.” Man in charge says.

“She didn’t tell me.” Sherlock says. He raises his voice. “I don’t know it!”

“I’m prepared to believe you any second now.” Man in charge says and waits a second, then says, “Three.”

“No, stop!” Sherlock yells.

I open my eyes and look at Man in charge. I see that he has held up his hand. Sherlock’s gaze becomes distant while his mind works frantically, then he slowly turns towards the safe and lowers his hands. He lifts his hands and pushes the buttons. The safe beeps and noisily unlocks. Irene smiles in satisfaction as Sherlock sighs and closes his eyes briefly. I smile at Sherlock then look at Irene. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Open it, please.” Man in charge says. Twisting the button that will open the door, Sherlock looks across to Irene.

“Vatican cameos.” Sherlock says urgently. John and I duck down, at the same moment Sherlock pulls open the door of the safe while ducking down below the fireplace. Inside the safe, a tripwire attached to the door tugs on the trigger of a pistol with an equally long and over-compensatory silencer which is aimed straight out of the safe. The gun fires and Archer – who happened to be standing directly in front of it – is shot in the chest. Sherlock grabs for Neilson’s pistol and Irene spins around on her knees and savagely elbows her guard in the groin. Pulling the pistol from Neilson’s grip, Sherlock holds the silencer end and smashes the butt across his face and Neilson drops to the floor unconscious. As Irene’s guard crumples under her blow, she grapples for his pistol and is on her feet and aiming it down at him while he’s still falling. Sherlock turns to her. “D’you mind?”

“Not at all.” She says.

As her guard tries to get up again, she slams the gun across his face and knocks him unconscious. While she’s distracted, Sherlock reaches into the safe and takes something out of it. Nearby, John and I have checked Archer over and now stand up. “He’s dead.” John tells them.

“Thank you. You were very observant.” Irene says to Sherlock.

“Observant?” John asks.

“I’m flattered.” Irene says.

“Don’t be.” Sherlock says and moves to me. “Are you okay? I didn’t know if you would get the phrase.” He asks me.

“Yeah, my granddad was in World War two and I would talk to him a lot, so you got lucky.” I say and smirk.

“There’ll be more of them. They’ll be keeping an eye on the building.” Sherlock says and trots out onto the street. John and I follow him.

“We should call the police.” John says.

“Yes.” Sherlock says as he points the pistol into the air, fires it five times. “On their way.” He turns and trots back into the house. I giggle and follow.

“For God’s sake.” I hear John behind us.

“Oh shut up. It’s quick.” Sherlock says. We go back into the sitting room. Irene turns around from the safe to face him. “Check the rest of the house. See how they got in.” He says to John. Sherlock takes the item which he just stole from the safe out of his pocket and flips it nonchalantly into the air before catching it again. “Well, that’s the knighthood in the bag.” I laugh and he looks at me.

“Ah. And that’s mine.” Irene says and holds her hand out.

Ignoring her, Sherlock switches on the security lock on the phone he’s holding. I look over at it and see it requires four letters or numbers to activate it and it has “I AM” above the four spaces and “LOCKED” below them. I frown. She wouldn’t. “All the photographs are on here, I presume.”

“I have copies, of course.” Irene says.

“No you don’t. You’ll have permanently disabled any kind of uplink or connection. Unless the contents of this phone are provably unique, you wouldn’t be able to sell them.” Sherlock says.

Irene lowers her hand. “Who said I’m selling?”

Sherlock looks at the dead and unconscious bodies lying on the floor. “Well, why would they be interested? Whatever’s on the phone, it’s clearly not just photographs.”

“That camera phone is my life, Mr. Holmes. I’d die before I let you take it.” She walks closer and holds her hand out again. “It’s my protection.”

“Sherlock!” We hear John well.

Sherlock puts the phone back into his pocket and looks at Irene pointedly. “It was.” We turn and leave the room. She chases after us. We come into the bedroom followed by Irene.

“Must have come in this way.” John says.

“Clearly.” Sherlock says and goes into the bathroom. Irene and I walk to Kate.

“It’s all right. She’s just out cold.” John tells Irene.

“Well, God know she’s used to that. There’s a back door. Better check it, Doctor Watson.” Irene tells John. John and I look up at Sherlock who has come out of the bathroom. Sherlock nods to him.

“Sure.” John says and leaves the room. Sherlock takes out the camera phone and ignores Irene. I go over by him and look at it.

“You’re very calm. Well, your booby trap did just kill a man.” Sherlock says.

“He would have killed me. It was self-defense in advance.” Irene says. Walking across to Sherlock, she strokes her hand down his left arm. As he looks down at her hand she steps around behind him and stabs the syringe into his right arm. He gasps and spins around, trying to grab at his arm. She comes at me and stabs me in my arm with the syringe.

“What? What is that? What…” I hear Sherlock says. Irene goes back to him and she slaps him hard. He stumbles and falls to the floor. She holds out her hand to him,

“Give it to me. Now. Give it to me.” She says.

I fall to my knees and watch her. I try to get over to Sherlock but I feel like I can’t move.

“No.” Sherlock says.

“Give it to me.” Irene says.

Sherlock slumps to his hands and knees, still holding onto the phone. “No.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Irene says. She picks up her riding crop from the dressing table and wields it at him. “Drop it.”

“No! Don’t hit him!” I yell. Irene glares at me.

Sherlock continues to try to struggle to his feet.

“I..” She thrashes him. “Said….” She thrashes him. “Drop it.” She strikes a third time and he falls to the floor, unintentionally dropping the phone. “Ah. Thank you, dear.” As he lies on his back unable to move, she picks up the phone and types on it, standing over Sherlock and looking down at him smugly. “Now tell that sweet little posh thing the pictures are safe with me. They’re not for blackmail, just for insurance.” She puts the phone into the pocket of Sherlock’s coat which she’s still wearing. “Besides, I might want to see her again.” Grunting, Sherlock tries to get up. Irene presses him back down to the floor with one foot and the end of her crop. “Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. It’s been a pleasure. Don’t spoil it.” She gently strokes the end of the crop against his face. “This is how I want you to remember me. The woman who beat you. Goodnight, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.” Sherlock closes his eyes.

“Bitch.” I says softly.

She walks over to me and whips me. I scream. She had done this to me growing up. It was one of the worst things she had done. “You little sister, need to learn your place. You belong on the streets, not in a nice house, with a nice job.” She says and whips me again. I fall to the ground and look up at her. “I hate you.” She says and whips me one last time before everything turned black.

I woke up a little later, screaming. Mycroft jumps from his seat and takes my hand. “It’s okay Ardaigh. I got you.” He says softly. I look around.

“Where am I?” I ask.

“At the flat. I came to Irene’s house when the police had shown up. I brought you here. You are alright love.” He says.

I nod and try to move my arm. I groan. “Oh god.”

“Try not to move that much Ardaigh.” He tells me. I nod and lay down.

“Sleep with me?” I ask.

“Of course.” He says and gets into bed. He holds me and soon I was back asleep.

I wake up the next morning, and go to the living room. I was sore and was pretty sure I had bruises from the whipping. I see Sherlock and John sitting at the table in the living room. John was eating breakfast and Sherlock was reading the newspaper. I go into the living room more and see Mycroft. I grin and walk over to him. I wrap my arms around him and he rubs my back.

“How are you feeling?” He asks me.

“Sore, but fine.” I say. “How are you feeling Sherlock?”

“The photographs are perfectly safe.” Sherlock says, ignoring me.

“In the hands of a fugitive sex worker.” Mycroft says. He leads me to the couch and sits down with me.

“She’s not interested in blackmail. She wants ... protection for some reason. I take it you’ve stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?” Sherlock says.

“How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied.” Mycroft says. I grin at the thought of tying him up and shake my head.

“She’d applaud your choice of words. You see how this works: that camera phone is her “Get out of jail free” card. You have to leave her alone. Treat her like royalty, Mycroft.” Shelock explains.

“Though not the way she treats royalty.” John comments. He smiles at Mycroft sarcastically. Mycroft smiles back humourlessly. Just then an orgasmic female sigh fill the room. John and Mycroft frown. I feel the blood drain my face. I knew that moan. “What was that?” John asks.

“Text.” Sherlock says, trying to look nonchalant.

“But what was that noise?” John asks. Sherlock gets up and goes over to pick up his phone from nearby.

“Did you know there were other people after her too, Mycroft, before you sent John, Calliah, and me in there? CIA-trained killers, at an excellent guess.” Sherlock says and goes back to the table and sits down again as John looks round at Mycroft.

“Yeah, thanks for that, Mycroft.” John says. I glare at John.

Mrs. Hudson brings in a plate of breakfast from the kitchen and puts it front of Sherlock. “It’s a disgrace, sending your little brother into danger like that. Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes. And poor little Calliah too.” She says sternly.

“Oh, shut up, Mrs. Hudson.” Mycroft says. I gasp and reach up and slap the back of his head.

“MYCROFT!” Sherlock yells furiously.

“OI!” John says simultaneously and equally furiously.

Mycroft looks at their angry faces glaring at him, then looks at me as I give him a disappointed look. He frown and cringes. He looks contritely at Mrs. Hudson. “My apologies.” He says sincere.

“Thank you.” Mrs. Hudson says. Mycroft looks at me and pouts. I laugh and move into him. I could never stay mad at him.

“Though do, in fact, shut up.” Sherlock says. His phone sighs orgasmically again. Mrs. Hudson, who was going back into the kitchen, turns back. I frown and move my face into Mycroft. He wraps an arm around me and rubs my back.

“Ooh. It’s a bit rude, that noise, isn’t it?” Mrs. Hudson says.

Sherlock looks at the text. “There’s nothing you can do and nothing she will do as far as I can see.” Sherlock says.

“I can put maximum surveillance on her.” Mycroft says.

“Why bother? You can follow her on Twitter. I believe her user name is “TheWhipHand”.” Sherlock explains.

“Yes. Most amusing.” Mycroft says and frowns. His phone rings and he takes it from his pocket. “’Scuse me.” I move from him and he gets up and walks into the hall. “Hello.” He says into the phone.

Sherlock watches him leave, frowning suspiciously. John looks at him. “Why does your phone make that noise?”

“What noise?” Sherlock asks.

“That noise – the one it just made.” John explains.

“It’s a text alert. It means I’ve got a text.” Sherlock says.

“Hmm. Your text alert don’t usually make that noise.” John says.

“Well, somebody got hold of the phone and apparently, as a joke, personalized their text alert noise.” Sherlock explains.

“Hmm. So every time they text you…” John starts to say. Right on cue, the phone sighs orgasmically again.

“It would seem so.” Sherlock says.

“Could you turn that phone down a bit? At my time of life, it’s…” Mrs. Hudson says.

Sherlock looks at the phone and puts it down. He goes back to reading the paper

“I’m wondering who could have got hold of your phone, because it would have been in your coat, wouldn’t it?” John says.

Sherlock raises his newspaper so that it’s obscuring his face. “I’ll leave you to your deductions.”

John smiles. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Where do you get that idea?” Sherlock asks.

Mycroft comes back into the room, still talking on the phone. I look up and smile at him. “Bond Air is go, that’s decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later.” He hangs up. Sherlock looks up at him.

“What else does she have?” Sherlock asks. Mycroft sits down by me and rests a hand on my knee. Mycroft looks at Sherlock enquiringly. “Irene Adler. The Americans wouldn’t be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs. There’s more.” He stands up and faces his brother. “Much more.” Mycroft looks at him stony-faced. Sherlock walks closer to him. “Something big’s coming, isn’t it?” I look down and try to calm myself down.

“Irene Adler is no longer any concern to yours. From now on you will stay out of this.” Mycroft says. I look up and grins.

Sherlock locks eyes with Mycroft. “Oh, will I?”

“Yes, Sherlock, you will.” Mycroft says. Sherlock shrugs and turns away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend.” He says. He turns to me and smiles. “Call later?” I nod.

Sherlock picks up violin. “Do give her my love.” He begins to play ‘God Save The Queen”. Mycroft and I roll our eyes. He kisses my head and gets up, turns and leaves the room. Sherlock following along behind him while John grins. As Mycroft hurries down the stairs, Sherlock turns back and walks over to the window, still playing.

“Do you have to be so annoying Sherlock?” I ask.

Time passes and now it’s Christmas. Fairy lights are strung up around the window frame of the flat and it’s snowing outside. Inside, the living room is festooned with Christmas decorations and cards, and Sherlock is walking around playing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” on his violin. Mrs. Hudson is sitting in his chair with a glass in her hand, watching him happily. Greg is standing at the entrance to the kitchen holding a wine glass, and John – wearing a very snazzy Christmassy jumper – walks across the room with a cup and saucer in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. I was sitting on the couch with Mycroft. As Sherlock finishes the tune with a fancy flourish, Greg whistles in appreciation. I clap and look at Mycroft.

“Lovely!” Mrs. Hudson says. “Sherlock, that was lovely.”

“Some things are best to left to the imagination, Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock says.

John hands Mrs. Hudson a cup of tea. “Mrs. H.”

Jeanette comes over to Sherlock and offers him a tray of mince pies and slices of cake. “No thank you, Sarah.” He says softly. I laugh softly.

Jeanette’s face falls. John hurries over to her and puts his arm around her as she turns away. “Uh, no, no, no, no, no, no. He’s not good with names.” John tries to explain.

“No-no-no. I can get this.” Sherlock says. Jeanette puts the tray down and straightens up, folding her arms and looking at Sherlock rather grimly. “No, Sarah was the doctor; and then there was the one with the spots; and then the one with the nose; and then ... who was after the boring teacher?” I laugh harder and Mycroft elbows me.

“Nobody.” Jeanette says.

“Jeanette!” Sherlock says and grins falsely at her. “Ah, process of elimination.” John awkwardly shepherds Jeanette away. Sherlock looks across to the door as a new arrival comes in. “Oh, dear Lord.”

I look over and see Molly Hooper. I get up and hug her. She hugs back. She is carrying two bags full of presents. “Hello, everyone. Sorry, hello.” John walks over to us, smiling. “Er, it said on the door just to come up.” Everyone greets her. I go and sit back down and places a hand on Mycroft’s knee. No one was paying attention to us so I got to be a little more freely with my actions.

“Oh, everybody’s saying hullo to each other. How wonderful.” Sherlock says. Molly smiles at him nervously. She takes off her coat and scarf.

“Let me, er… holy Mary!” John says. I look over and see Molly is wearing a very attractive black dress.

“Wow!” Greg says.

“Having a Christmas drinkies, then?” Molly asks.

Sherlock sits at the table. “No stopping them, apparently.”

“It’s the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me, so it’s almost worth it!” Mrs. Hudson. “Calliah is always nice to me.” She says and smiles at me. I smile back.

Molly giggles nervously, her eyes still fixed on Sherlock as he starts typing on John’s laptop. John brings a chair over to her. “Have a seat.”

“John?” Sherlock asks.

“Hmm?” John asks. He goes over to Sherlock. I look over to Molly and see Greg touch her arm to get her attention.

“Molly?” She turns to him. “Want a drink?” She nods and I smile. I look over at Mycroft and see him smiling at me.

“Are you coming over later?” He asks. “I have your Christmas present.” I nod and snuggle into him.

Molly turns to Mrs. Hudson. “How’s the hip?” She asks.

“Ooh, it’s atrocious, but thanks for asking.” Mrs. Hudson tells her.

“I’ve seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems.” Molly says. I bust out laughing and then slowly stop as I see no one else laughing. Molly looks embarrassed. “Oh, God. Sorry.”

“I thought it was funny. “ I say softly.

“You would love.” Mycroft whispers in my ear.

“Don’t make jokes, Molly.” Sherlock says.

“No. Sorry.” Molly says. Greg hands her a glass of red wine. “Thank you. I wasn’t expecting to see you. I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas.”

“That’s first thing in the morning, me and the wife. We’re back together. It’s all sorted.” Greg says. I smile at him.

“No, she’s sleeping with a P.E. teacher.” Sherlock says, not looking up from the computer.

Greg’s smile becomes rather fixed. Molly turns to John who is sitting on the arm of his armchair. Jeanette is sitting in the chair itself. “And John. I hear you’re off to your sister’s, is that right?”

“Yeah.” John says.

“Sherlock was complaining.” Molly says. Sherlock raises his eyebrows indignantly. “…saying.” Molly corrected herself.

“No, he was complaining. I was there.” I tell everyone.

“First time ever, she’s cleaned up her act. She’s off the booze.” John says.

“Nope.” Sherlock says.

“Shut up, Sherlock.” I say.

“I see you’ve got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you’re serious about him.” Sherlock says.

I look confused. Molly would have told me if she had a new boyfriend.

“Sorry, what?” Molly asked. So she didn’t have a boyfriend.

“In fact, you’re seeing him this very night and giving him a gift.” Sherlock says.

“Take a day off.” John says softly and exasperated.

Greg takes a glass to the table and puts it down near Sherlock. “Shut up and have a drink.

“Oh, come on. Surely you’ve all seen the present at the top of the bag – perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best.” Sherlock says and stands up and walks towards Molly. “It’s for someone special, then.” He picks up the well-wrapped present. “The shade of red echoes her lipstick – either an unconscious association or one that she’s deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has lurrrve on her mind. The fact that she’s serious about him is clear from the fact she’s giving him a gift at all.” I look at Molly with a frown as she squirms in front of Sherlock. Oh god. The present is for him. “That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn; and that she’s seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she’s wearing.” He smiles smugly at John and Jeanette. He starts to turn over the gift tag attached to the present. “Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts ...” he trails off as he looks down at the tag. Sherlock gazes at the words in shock when he realises the terrible thing that he has just done. Molly gasps quietly.

“You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always.” Molly says. As she fights back tears, Sherlock turns to walk away ... but then stops and turns back to her.

“I am sorry. Forgive me.” Sherlock says. I blink in surprise at the human reaction. Sherlock steps closer to Molly. “Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.” He says softly. He leans forward and gently kisses her on the cheek. It’s a sweet and beautiful moment, which is instantly ruined by the sound of an orgasmic sigh. Molly gasps in shock.

“No! That wasn’t… I – I didn’t…” Molly stammers.

“No, it was me.” Sherlock says.

I feel the blood drain from my face and I stand up and leave the flat. I hear Mycroft follow me. “Why today. I thought she was going to leave us alone.” I start pacing. “He keeps getting the texts.” I place a hand on my head. “Why?” I look up at him, trying to calm down. “Why does she want him?”

“I don’t know Ardaigh” he says and wraps his arms around me. He lifts my head and kisses me softly. I kiss back and wrap my arms around him. We jump apart when the door opens. I see Sherlock at the door. His looks shocked for a minute.

He clears his throat. “U-Um, I think you’re going to find Irene Adler tonight.” He says softly.

I look at him confused. “We already know where she is. As you were kind enough to point out, it hardly matters.” Mycroft says.

I see John come up behind Sherlock. I look down and bite my lip. “No, I mean you’re going to find her dead.” Sherlock says and looks at me.

Mycroft, Sherlock, and I go to St Barts. We go inside and see Molly in her Christmas jumper and trousers with a lab coat over her clothes.

“The only one that fitted the description. Had her brought here – your home from home.” Mycroft says to us.

“You didn’t need to come in Molly.” I tell her.

“That’s okay. Everyone else was busy with ... Christmas. And she is your sister. You are my best friend. It’s the least I can do.” She gestures to the body. “The face is a bit, sort of, bashed up, so it might be a bit difficult.” She pulls the sheet down to reveal the face. I gasp and curl into Mycroft. He holds me.

“That’s her, isn’t it?” Mycroft asks.

“Show me the rest of her.” Sherlock says to Molly.

Grimacing, Molly walks along the side of the table, pulling the sheet back as she goes. Sherlock looks along the length of the body once, then turns and starts to walk away. “That’s her.”

“Thank you, Miss Hooper.” Mycroft says.

“How did Sherlock recognize her from ... not her face?” Molly asks. Mycroft smiles politely at her, then we turn and follows his brother. We finds him standing in the corridor outside, looking out of the window. Walking up behind him, he holds a cigarette over his shoulder.

“Just the one.” Mycroft says.

“Why?” Sherlock asks.

“Merry Christmas.” Mycroft says. Sherlock takes the cigarette and Mycroft digs into his coat pocket to find a lighter.

“Smoking indoors – isn’t there one of those ... one of those law things?” Sherlock asks.

Mycroft lights the cigarette for him. “We’re in a morgue. There’s only so much damage you can do.” I laugh darkly. Sherlock inhales deeply and then blows the smoke out again. “How did you know she was dead?” I look at Sherlock questionably.

“She had an item in her possession, one she said her life depended on. She chose to give it up.” Sherlock explains. He takes another drag on his cigarette.

“Where is this item now?” Mycroft asks.

Sherlock looks round at the sound of sobbing. A family of three people is standing on the other side of the doors at the end of the corridor, cuddled together and clearly grieving the death of someone close to them. Sherlock and Mycroft turn to look at the family. “Look at them. They all care so much. Do you ever wonder if there’s something wrong with us? Well I guess not you. You have Calliah.”

“All lives end. All hearts are broken.” Mycroft says and looks at me. I frown.

Sherlock blows out another lungful of smoke, then looks down at the cigarette in disgust. “This is low tar.”

“Well, you barely knew her.” Mycroft says.

“Huh!” Sherlock says. He looks at me. “Are you okay?”

I shrug and snuggle into Mycroft more. “I’m going to go to Mycroft’s tonight. We can talk later.”

He nods and starts walking away down the corridor. “Merry Christmas, Mycroft and Calliah.”

“And a happy New Year.” As Sherlock continues down the corridor, flicking the ash from his cigarette onto the floor, Mycroft gets out his phone and hits a speed dial. “He’s on his way. “ He says into the phone. “Have you found anything?” He listens. “Yes… No, but I never am. You have to say with him, John….No….I have to stay with Calliah.” He hangs up. He looks at me. “Come on. I promised you a Christmas present.”

“I left your gift at the flat.” I say softly.

“I don’t care.” Mycroft says.

We go to his house and I sit on the couch. He sits by me. “Are you okay?”

“No, but I need to not think about it.” I say and look at him. He hands me a small box. “So, it’s not a car.” I pout.

He laughs. “No, sorry. Not a car.”

I open the box and see a small ring in there. “It’s not an engagement ring because we aren’t ready. This is a promise ring. I promise to love you till I die.” Mycroft says. He takes it out and slides it on my finger. I grin and hug him and he falls backwards on the couch, and I land on him.

“Thank you!” I says softly. He smiles and kisses me softly.

“Anything for my Ardaigh.” He says and kisses me again.


	20. Chapter 20

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the next part of A Scandal in Belgravia.**

**I own nothing, except Calliah**

**If you want to see a picture of the ring go here http://zales.imageg.net/graphics/product_images/pZALE1-16687674t400.jpg**

The next morning, I wake up in Mycroft’s bed. We didn’t do anything but sleep. It was nice being in his room. He trusted me and I liked that. I look over at Mycroft and see that he was still sleeping. I look at the ring and smile. It was had a heart in the middle and in the heart was three diamonds. On each side of the heart was a branch look with small diamonds in the leaves. I grin at it and smile. How lucky was I. I slowly frown as I remember what else happened yesterday. My sister was dead. I move to my side and curl up. She was not the best, but she was the last family I had. I start to cry and close my eyes. I suddenly feel arms around me. I push them off and cry harder.

“Shh. It’s okay.” I hear softly. I ignore him and curl up tighter. I hear him sigh and get up. I knew he was going to be telling his cook and ‘Anthea’ that today would be a bad one for me and to watch me closely. I just keep crying. I felt like a weight was dropped onto my stomach and I start shaking. I couldn’t breathe. I start to gasp when Mycroft comes into the room. He rushes over and kneels by the bed and looks me in the eyes. “Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on my words.” He says softly. I do it and start to calm down. I finally stop crying and just look at the wall, not moving. “Calliah? Do you wanna watch the next Harry Potter movie?” I hear. I don’t respond. I didn’t want to do anything. I was going to have to bury my sister. I start crying again. Mycroft sighs and gets onto the bed and holds me. I let him this time.

After a while of just laying there, I curled up and Mycroft holding me, I uncurl myself and turn around. “Why?” I ask softly.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry that this happened.” He says softly.

“I have no family.” I say softly.

“That is a lie.” He says. I look up at him confused. “You have me. You have Miss Hooper. You have my brother. You have Doctor Watson. You have Lestrade. You have Mrs. Hudson. You have ‘Anthea’, even if you don’t know her real name.” I laugh slightly. “You even have my parents who haven’t even met you. So many people love you and are your family. You will never be alone again Ardaigh. I will never let you be alone. I promise you that.”

I smile and hug him. “Thank you Croft.”

“Any time. Do you wanna head home yet?” He asks.

I sigh. “I should.”

“You don’t have to.” Mycroft says.

“I know. I need to make sure Sherlock is okay and John is probably half-crazy.” I say.

“John can handle Sherlock.” Mycroft says.

I laugh and nod. “I know he can. You know you could come over with me.” I say.

Mycroft laughs. “Yeah, Sherlock would love that.”

“I don’t care if he would or not. He knows about us.” I say.

“Oh, yes. Sherlock knows. He is going to tell mummy and dad.” Mycroft says.

“Is that a bad thing?” I ask.

“No, I just wanted to tell them.” Mycroft says.

“Well, Sherlock probably has other things on his mind.” I tell him. He nods and smiles.

“I enjoyed having you stay over.” He tells me.

“I enjoy staying over.” I say.

He leans down and kisses me softly. I kiss back and wrap my arms around him. He deepens the kiss and then pulls back. I giggle and sit up. “Okay, time for me to get ready to go.” I say and stand up.

“Or you could lie back down and we can do some more of that.” Mycroft says nonchalantly.

“Why, Mr. Holmes, are you trying to bribe me to come back to bed?” I ask.

“Oh course Miss Mullen.” He says and smirks.

I laugh and shake my head. “You are too cute.”

He scoffs. “Cute. Mycroft Holmes is not cute.”

“He so is. Now I really have to go. If you are a good boy and get dressed, I’ll let you ride in the car taking me home.” I say and leave the room. I go to my room and get dressed.

We get to my flat and I start to get out. “Wait.” I hear. I turn and smile at Mycroft. “Don’t let Sherlock say anything bad about you dating me. And if he does, don’t believe him.” He says softly.

I smile softly and move to him. “He couldn’t say anything to make me change my mind about you. I’m sorry to say but you are stuck with me.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “No, you are stuck with me.” I kiss him softly and get out of the car.

In the afternoon of New’s Year Eve, I went out with Molly for some girl time. I told her about Mycroft finally and she told me about her Christmas. I get in and go inside and see Sherlock coming down the stairs. “Hey, where are you off to?” I ask.

He looks up at me. “Calliah. Good. Come on.” He says as he drags me out of the flat.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

He ignores me and gets a taxi to the empty shell of Battersea Power Station. He pays and drags me out of the taxi. He looks at me. “Now, you have to shut up. Don’t say a word, okay?” I nod and he leads me to a room that leads into another room.

“We’re not a couple.” I hear John says. I turn to Sherlock and open my mouth. He shakes his head.

“Yes you are. There…” I hear my sister’s voice. I cover my mouth and look at Sherlock. He looks at me with no emotion. “’I’m not dead. Let’s have dinner.’”

“Who…who the hell knows about Sherlock Holmes, but – for the record – if anyone out there still cares, I’m not actually gay.” John says softly.

“Well, I am. Look at us both.” Irene says.

John laughs ruefully. Sherlock’s phone goes off and we look at it. He switches it off and pulls me away.

We take a taxi close to Baker Street and we get out. We walk to the flat, both of us looking down. We were in our own thoughts. As he arrives at the front door of 221B and turns to put his key in the door, his expression sharpens when he realizes that the door has been jimmied open. He holds his hand out for me to stay back. Slowly pushing the door open, he goes inside and carefully puts his hand onto the opaque glass window of the interior door before also pushing that one open and stepping through into the hall. I follow behind. Immediately we see that the door to 221A is ajar, and partway down the hall is a plastic bucket. He takes a quick glance at the various items inside the bucket and sees that they’re cleaning materials: a pair of rubber gloves, a duster, a spray can of what is probably screen and telephone sanitizer, a toilet brush and a bottle of disinfectant, and a couple of other items. Sherlock steps closer to the stairs and looks at them. He then looks at the wall. He puts a finger against the dent and his gaze becomes more intense. Sherlock stands there for a few seconds while his rage builds, and then he gets moving. I follow him up the stairs. Not long afterwards he slowly pushes open the door to the living room of 221B. In front of the fireplace Mrs. Hudson is sitting on a dining chair facing the sofa, and behind her stands Neilson, the CIA man who led the raid on Irene’s house. He is holding another pistol with an over-compensatory silencer attached and is aiming the gun at the back of Mrs. Hudson’s head. One of his men is standing looking out of the window but turns when the door opens; the other stands near the sliding door into the kitchen. As we slowly strolls into the room, Sherlock with his hands clasped behind his back, Mrs. Hudson – already crying quietly – begins to sob a little louder. “Oh, Sherlock, Calliah.”

“Don’t snivel, Mrs. Hudson. It’ll do nothing to impede the flight of a bullet.” Sherlock says. He looks at Neilson. “What a tender world that would be.”

Mrs. Hudson gazes up at Sherlock and me. “Oh, please, sorry, Sherlock.”

“I believe you have something that we want, Mr. Holmes.” Neilson says.

“Then why don’t you ask for it?” Sherlock says. He walks closer and holds out his right hand towards Mrs. Hudson. She flails towards it, whimpering, and he gently turns back the sleeve of her right hand and looks at the bruises on her wrist.

“Sher…” Mrs. Hudson says crying.

“I’ve been asking this one. She doesn’t seem to know anything.” Neilson says. “But you know what I’m asking for don’t you, Mr. Holmes.”

“I believe I do.” Sherlock says. Mrs. Hudson whimpers as he releases her hands and straightens up, putting his hands behind his back again.

“Oh, please, Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson says.

“First, get rid of your boys.” Sherlock demands.

“Why?” Neilson asks.

“I dislike being outnumbered. It makes for too much stupid in the room.” Sherlock explains.

“Oh, so you want me to be outnumbered?” Neilson asks. “Okay, fine. Only if I can tie up Miss Adler so she doesn’t help you.”

“Fine.” Sherlock says.

I glare at Sherlock as Neilson grabs my arm. One of his men grabs a chair from the kitchen and Neilson ties me up. I glare at Neilson and he smirks. He nods to the two other men. “Okay, you two, go to car.”

“Then get into the car and drive away.” He looks back at Neilson. “Don’t try and trick me. You know who I am. It doesn’t work.” The two men leave the room and head down the stairs. “Next, you can stop pointing that gun at me.”

“So you can point a gun at me?” Neilson asks.

Sherlock steps back and spreads his arms to either side. “I’m unarmed.”

“Mind if I check?” Neilson asks.

“Oh, I insist.” Sherlock says.

Neilson comes around from behind us. Mrs. Hudson whimpers nervously. “Don’t do anything.

Neilson walks over to Sherlock and pats his breast pocket and flicks the coat open while Sherlock stands meekly with his arms still spread. Walking around behind him, Neilson starts patting for any hidden weapon at his back. Sherlock rolls his eyes dramatically at Mrs. Hudson and me, but he is already covertly starting to bend his right arm towards himself. He whips out the sanitizer spray can, twists around and sprays the contents directly into Neilson’s eyes. As Neilson screams, Sherlock rears back and then savagely head butts him in the face. Neilson falls back over the coffee table, unconscious, and Sherlock triumphantly flips the can into the air. “Moron.” Slamming the can onto the table, he hurries over to Mrs. Hudson and, tutting – probably in annoyance at what the man has done to her – he drops to his knees in front of her.

“Oh, thank you.” Mrs. Hudson says tearfully.

Sherlock gently strokes her face. “You’re all right now, you’re all right.”

“Yes. Now get Calliah out.” Mrs. Hudson says.

He nods and unties me. “Mycroft is going to kill him.” He tells me.

“Oh I know.” I say and smile. He starts to laugh. Sherlock gets up and grabs a piece of paper. He writes:

CRIME IN PROGRESS

PLEASE DISTURB

I laugh as I read it. He hands it to me. “Put this on the front door.” I nod and leave the room. I hang it under the knocker. I go back up stairs and see that Sherlock is putting Neilson into the chair. I rush over and help him. “Get the duct tape.” Sherlock tells me. I nod and go get it as Sherlock ties up Neilson. “Sit on the couch, both of you.” He tells us as he grabs the duct tape. I go to Mrs. Hudson and sit on the couch.

“Want some tea?” I ask her.

“No thank you dear.” Mrs. Hudson says. “So Mycroft and you? Anything there?”

I look down and blush. “We have been going out for almost a year now.” I say softly. I look over to Sherlock and see that he is waiting for Neilson to wake up.

“Oh, how nice. You need to help him be nicer to Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson tells me.

“I’m trying to get both boys to be nice to each other.” I say and laugh. I hear a moan and see that Neilson has woken up. Sherlock lifts his arm and punches him in the nose, breaking it.

Sherlock sits down in his chair, lifts the pistol to Neilson and lifts his phone to his ear. I hear someone coming up the stairs and John comes in. “Jeez. What the hell happened?”

“Mrs. Hudson’s been attacked by an American. I’m restoring balance to the universe.” Sherlock explains.

John hurries over to the couch and sits on the other side of Mrs. Hudson. “Oh, Mrs. Hudson, my God. Are you all right?” He wraps an arm around her and glares at Neilson. “Jesus, what have they done to you?”

Mrs. Hudson breaks down in tears again. She covers her face. “Oh, I’m, just being so silly.”

John pulls Mrs. Hudson closer. “No, no.”

Sherlock gets to his feet, still holding the phone to his ear while aiming the pistol at Neilson. “Downstairs. Take them downstairs and look after Mrs. Hudson.”

John and I get up and help Mrs. Hudson up. “All right, it’s all right. I’ll have a look at that.” John says gently.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Mrs. Hudson says tearfully.

As she walks out of the room, John steps over to Sherlock, whose eyes are fixed on Neilson. “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“I expect so. Now go.” Sherlock says. They look at each other for a moment, and then turn their gazes to. John turns to leave the room but just before his head is completely turned away, a small smile begins to form on his face. Sherlock looks at me. “I’ll make sure Mycroft can get a little of the action. Go downstairs.” I smirk at Neilson and skip out of the room and go downstairs.

Mrs. Hudson and John are standing by the sink while he gently applies some antiseptic to the cut on her cheek. I sit at the table as she flinches. “Ooh, it stings.” John nods as he continues cleaning the cut. A moment later a shape plummets down past the window and lands with a crash. John and Mrs. Hudson look at the window. “Ooh. That was right on my bins.” There’s an agonized groan from outside. I just laugh.

Greg had shown up and was talking to Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson and John were sitting at the table, she was very shaken. I was leaning against the walls. I felt my phone vibrate. I look at the text:

_Are you four all right? MH_

I smile and reply:

_Yes. Are you going to take care of Neilson? CM_

After a minute, I get a reply:

_Of course. Would you expect any less? MH_

I giggle and reply:

_Nope. I wouldn’t change it either. CM_

I put my phone away and look up as Sherlock comes in. “She’ll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight. We need to look after her.” John says.

“No.” Mrs. Hudson says.

“Oh course, but she’s fine.” Sherlock says.

“No, she’s not. Look at her.” John says. Sherlock opens the fridge and peers inside before picking up something. “She’s got to take some time away from Baker Street. She can go and stay with her sister. Doctor’s orders.”

Sherlock kicks the fridge door shut, frowns at John and bites into a mince pie. “Don’t be absurd.” He says.

“She’s in shock, for God’s sake, and all over some bloody stupid camera phone. Where is it, anyway?” John asks.

“Safest place I know.” Sherlock says.

Wiping crumbs from his mouth, he looks down at Mrs. Hudson who reaches down inside her top and pulls the phone out of her bra before handing it to Sherlock. I laugh and she smiles at me. “You left it in the pocket of your second-best dressing gown, you clot.” She laughs briefly. “I managed to sneak it out when they thought I was having a cry.”

Sherlock tosses it into the air before putting it in his coat pocket. “Thank you.” He looks at John. “Mrs. Hudson leave Baker Street?” He puts a protective arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer to him. “England would fall.” Sherlock says sternly. She laughs and strokes his hand. He chuckles gently. John and I smile at them both.

Later, we are upstairs. John was fixing a drink in the kitchen. I was sitting on the couch playing with my ring. Sherlock looks at it and frowns. “What is that?”

“Um… well… it’s a promise ring… from your brother…” I say softly.

He comes over to me and sit down. “Can I see?” I show him my ring. “Why did he give you it?”

“A promise to always love me.” I look at him. He looks at me confused. “Sentiment.” He nods and stands up as John comes back in. Sherlock takes off his coat.

“Where is it now?” John asks.

“Where no-one will look.” Walking across to the window, he picks up his violin and turns his back to the room.

“Whatever’s on that phone is more than just pictures.” John says.

“Yes, it is.” Sherlock says. He tinkers with his violin and checks its tuning. John watches him for a moment.

“So, she’s alive then. How are we feeling?” John asks, looking at me. I look down and ignore him.

In the distance, Big Ben begins to toll the hour. Sherlock pulls in a sharp breath. “Happy New Year, John and Calliah.”

“Do you think you’ll be seeing her again?” John asks us.

Turning around but not yet meeting his eyes, Sherlock picks up his bow and flips it in the air before starting to play “Auld Lang Syne” and looking at John pointedly. John gets the message and sits down in his chair while Sherlock turns back to the window and continues to play.

I get my phone out and text Mycroft.

_Happy New Year CM_

Some months later, Sherlock and I reach the top of the stairs and then Sherlock stops abruptly outside the kitchen door. He sniffs deeply. “What?” I ask. Taking a couple more deep breaths, he turns and looks into the kitchen, then walks across to the window and checks it, realizing that it is open. Turning and sniffing again, he starts to walk slowly towards his bedroom just as the downstairs door slams and feet start trotting up the stairs. I follow him and he pushes his door open. He looks down at the bed. I frown and move to her and moves her hair out of her face. “Sherlock…” I hear John say.

“We have a client.” Sherlock says.

“What, in your bedroom?!” John asks. He comes in and his jaw drops when he sees the bed. “Ohhh.”

I stayed in the room till Irene woke up. She looks up and smiles softly. “That is the Calliah I remember. You in sweat pants and sweat shirts.” She says.

I laugh softly. “And you as I remember. Bitchy.”

She sit up and smirks. “Kitty got a back bone.”

“Yeah, living on the street does that to you.” I tell her.

She rolls her eyes. “Oh please. Mycroft Holmes got you off the street. You didn’t have to deal with anything.”

I stand up and walk over to her. “You don’t know what I went through Irene.” I cross my arms. “I slept in a box for two weeks till he found me. I barely ate! I tried to come back, Irene! Kate told me that you didn’t want to see me. You were my last family. I was lost in this world! You were supposed to be there for me! As far as I’m concerned, you are dead.” I yell and storm out of the room, slamming the door on my way out. I get to the living room and see the boys looking at me. I sigh. “That felt good.” I start laughing and kneel down. John comes over to me.

“Are you okay?” John asks softly.

“No.” I say softly. Sherlock comes over and picks me up. He puts me in his chair.

“Don’t die. Mycroft will kill me if I kill his girlfriend.” Sherlock says.

“Wait, girlfriend? You are dating Mycroft?” John asks. I nod. “You lived on the streets?”

“Yeah… Irene kicked me out after one day. I talked back to her and she got fed up with it. It all started when we found out that my father wasn’t actually my father. My mother had an affair and I was the product. My mother and father were heading for a divorcee when they died. They were arguing when a car rammed into their car. Irene blames me.” I explain to them. “I actually met you that day Sherlock.” I say and frown. “You were working at the library when I came in.”

Sherlock frowns. “I did? I remember that.”

“You were reading and I went to barrow a computer. I told you my name and you said the same thing you said to me when we met John. You said that my name means beautiful but too bad my looks didn’t match.” I say.

John frowns. “Did you really say that?”

Sherlock shrugs. “I don’t remember.”

“It doesn’t matter.” I say and get up. “I got to go.”

“Whoa whoa whoa. Where are you going?” John asks.

“I have to get away from her. I’ll call Mycroft.” I say. Sherlock looks up at me, worrying. “I’ll be fine.” I say, grab my coat and rush out of the flat. I bring out my phone and call Mycroft. It goes to voicemail and I sigh. I look around. I hail a taxi. I didn’t know where to go. I go to Mycroft’s house and knock on the door. ‘Anthea’ answers the door.

“Calliah. He is busy today.” She says.

I nod. “Please just let me in.”

“I’m not supposed to let anyone in.” ‘Anthea’ says.

“Please ‘Anthea’. I just need to be in the house.” I say and tear up.

“I’m sorry sweetie.” ‘Anthea’ says and shuts the door. I start to sob and I go back to the taxi.

“Where to?” The driver asks.

“Um, library.” I say softly. He pulls out onto the road and I bring my knees to my chest as the city goes by.

I get out when we get to the library. I pay the driver and he drives off. I go into the library and look around. I just needed some time. I would be fine. I get lost in the aisles and keep thinking about Mycroft, Sherlock, John, and Irene. I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. I get it out and see a text.

_Come to the flat. SH_

I sigh and start on my way home.

I get home and see Sherlock sitting in his chair and Irene over him. She was kneeling in front of him and then where holding hands. “Why would I want dinner if I wasn’t hungry?” Sherlock asks.

Irene leans forward. “Oh, Mr. Holmes… if it was the end of the world, if this was the very last night, would have dinner with me?” She asks softly.

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson calls up the stairs. Sherlock looks over at the door and sees me. He stands up fast and Irene falls down. He walks to me.

“Where were you?” He asks.

I look him in the eyes. “I don’t think you care. You were paying too much attention to my sister.”

He frowns and shakes his head as two people come up the stairs. I turn around to see Mrs. Hudson and Plummer. “Sherlock, this man was at the door. Is the bell still not working?” Mrs. Hudson asks. She turns to Plummer and points at Sherlock. “He shot it.”

“Have you come to take me away again?” Sherlock asks Plummer.

“Yes, Mr. Holmes. You and Miss Muller.” Plummer says.

“Well, I decline.” Sherlock says. “So does she.”

Plummer takes an envelope from his jacket and offers it to him. “I don’t think you do.”

I feel my phone buzz and I get it out.

_Please come Ardaigh. MH_

I nod. Sherlock gets his coat and we follow Plummer to a car.

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the next part of A Scandal in Belgravia.**

**I own nothing, except Calliah**

Sherlock gets out a plane ticket. “There’s going to be a bomb on a passenger jet. The British and American governments know about it but rather than expose the source of that information they’re going to let it happen. The plane will blow up. Coventry all over again. The wheel turns. Nothing is ever new.” Sherlock deduces.

Neither Plummer nor the driver respond to him in any way. I look over and shrug. Sometime later the car arrives at Heathrow Airport and is driven past hangars to a 747 Jumbo Jet parked on the tarmac. The car stops near the plane and Sherlock and I get out and walk over to the steps which lead up to the entry door. Neilson is standing at the bottom of the steps. So I guess Mycroft didn’t kill him. “Well, you’re lookin’ all better. How ya feelin’?” Sherlock asks nonchalantly, in a deliberately fake American accent.

“Like putting a bullet in your brain…sir.” Neilson says. Sherlock lets out a quite snigger and starts to walk up the steps. I follow. “They’d pin a medal on me if I did…” Sherlock and I stop. “…sir.” He says insincerely. Sherlock half-turns back towards him, then apparently decides he can’t be bothered and we continues up the steps. Inside, he pulls back the curtain obscuring the passenger seating and we walk into the aisle. The lighting is very low and it’s hard to see. There are people sitting in almost all the seats but none of them is moving or speaking or showing any signs of life at all. Frowning, we walk forward and he looks more closely at the nearest passengers. An overhead light shows more clearly the faces of two men sitting beside each other. “They are dead.” Sherlock tells me. I look more closely and see their skin is very grey and they’ve clearly been dead for some time. He turns and looks to the passengers on the other side of the aisle, turning on another overhead light to get a better view. As he straightens up, I realize that everyone on board the plane must be in the same condition.

“The Coventry conundrum.” I hear Mycroft tell us. I look up and see him at the other end of the section. Sherlock turns as Mycroft pushes back the curtain and steps through into the cabin. “What do you think of my solution?” Sherlock gazes around the cabin, still taking it all in. I was so confused. “The flight of the dead.”

“The plane blows up mid-air. Mission accomplished for the terrorists. Hundreds of casualties, but nobody dies.” Sherlock says, slightly explaining for my part.

“Neat, don’t you think?” Mycroft asks. “You’ve been stumbling round the fringes of this one for ages – or were you too bored to notice the pattern? We ran a similar project with the Germans a while back, though I believe one of our passengers didn’t make the flight. But that’s the deceased for you – late, in every sense of the word.” I laugh softly.

“How’s the plane going to fly?” Sherlock asks. “Of course: unmanned aircraft. Hardly new.”

            “It doesn’t fly. It will never fly. This entire project is cancelled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can’t fool them now. We’ve lost everything. One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning finished.” Mycroft explains. Was this what he was doing today?

“Your MOD man.” Sherlock says.

“That’s all it takes: one lonely naïve man desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special.” Mycroft says. I frown in confusion. I was lost and like at all the cases, I didn’t know why I was here.

“Hmm. You should screen your defense people more carefully.” Sherlock says.

“I’m not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock; I’m talking about you.” Mycroft says loudly, furiously. He slams the tip of his umbrella on the floor. Sherlock frowns, genuinely confused. “The damsel in distress.” He says softly. He smiles ironically. “In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook: the promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption; then give him a puzzle ...” his voice drops to a whisper while he twirls the end of his umbrella in the air. “... and watch him dance.” I frown. I have never seen Mycroft act this way. Was this how he thought of me? Was I a puzzle for him to solve?

“Don’t be absurd.” Sherlock says.

“Absurd? How quickly did you decipher that email for her? Was it the full minute, or were you really eager to impress?” Mycroft asks.

“I think it was less than five seconds.” I hear Irene behind me. I groan. Of course she was involved.

Sherlock and I turn around to see her at the end of the cabin. She was dressed in her best outfit, her hair and make-up perfect.

“I drove you into her path.” Mycroft says behind us. I look over and see him looking at me. He looks into my eyes. “I’m sorry.” He lowers his eyes. “I didn’t know.”

“Mr. Holmes, I think we need to talk.” Irene says.

“So do I. There are a number of aspects I’m still not quite clear on.” Sherlock says.

Irene walks past us. “Not you, Junior. You’re done now.” She continues down the aisle towards Mycroft. Sherlock turns and watches her go as she activates her phone and holds it up to show Mycroft. “There’s more ... loads more. On this phone I’ve got secrets, pictures and scandals that could topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me – unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother.” Mycroft can no longer hold her gaze and turns his head away, lowering his eyes.

Mycroft leads Irene, Sherlock and myself to the car. Irene and Sherlock get in and I look at Mycroft. I kiss his cheek and get in. He gets in after me and sits by me. He grabs my hand and rubs his thumb on my hand. I now knew that I was here for support. Mycroft needed me and I would be there for him. I turn to him and smile softly. “I came by your house today.”

“I know. I’m sorry ‘Anthea’ had to turn you away. I was dealing with this mess.” He says softly and looks at me.

“I understand now. Next time, just shoot me a text and tell me to stay away. I know your job is stressful and I know there will be days where you need you space and quite. I’m not a total goldfish.” I say and smile. He laughs and nods.

We get to his house and we all go in. We go into the sitting room. Irene and Mycroft are sitting at the table. Sherlock is in the armchair near the fireplace, half turned away from Irene and Mycroft. I was sitting by the window, watching them all. Mycroft points down at the camera phone which is lying on the table in front of him. There is no aggression or threat in his voice as he speaks to Irene. “We have people who can get into this.”

“I tested that theory for you. I let Sherlock Holmes try it for six months.” Irene says. Sherlock closes his eyes briefly, grimacing slightly. “Sherlock, dear, tell him what you found when you X-rayed my camera phone.” I hated her. I wish I could go over there and teach her to shut up.

“There are four additional units wired inside the casing, I suspect containing acid or a small amount of explosive.” Sherlock says flatly. Mycroft lowers his head into his hand. “Any attempt to open the casing will burn the hard drive.”

“Explosive.” Irene says and looks at Mycroft. “It’s more me.”

Mycroft lifts his head and looks at Irene. “Some data is always recoverable.”

“Take that risk?” Irene asks.

“You have a passcode to open this. I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you.” Mycroft says.

“Sherlock?” Irene says calmly.

“There will be two passcodes: one to open the phone, one to burn the drive. Even under duress you can’t know which one she’s given you and there will be no point in a second attempt.” Sherlock says.

“He’s good, isn’t he? I should have him on a leash – in fact, I might.” Irene says and gazes at Sherlock intensely but he remains turned away from her and can’t see her expression.

I glare at her and get up. She looks at me and smirks. I walk over to Mycroft and rest my hands on his shoulders. “We destroy this, then. No-one has the information.”

“Fine. Good idea ... unless there are lives of British citizens depending on the information you’re about to burn.” Irene threatens.

“Are there?” Mycroft asks.

“Telling you would be playing fair. I’m not playing anymore.” She reaches into her handbag on the table in front of her and takes out an envelope which she pushes across the table to him. “A list of my requests; and some ideas about my protection once they’re granted.” Mycroft takes the sheet of paper from the envelope and starts to unfold it. “I’d say it wouldn’t blow much of a hole in the wealth of the nation – but then I’d be lying.” He raises his eyebrows in amazement as he reads through the demands she has listed. “I imagine you’d like to sleep on it.”

“Thank you, yes.” Mycroft says, still reading it.

“Too bad.” Irene says. Mycroft looks up at her. Sherlock snorts. “Off you pop and talk to people.”

Mycroft sinks back in his chair, sighing. “You’ve been very… thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you.”

“I can’t take all the credit. Had a bit of help.” Irene says and looks to Sherlock. “Oh, Jim Moriarty sends his love.” I look over at Sherlock and see that he has raised his head.

“Yes, he’s been in touch. Seems desperate for my attention…” He says. “…Which I’m sure can be arranged.” He says ominous. I frown. I hated seeing my sister playing my boys.

“I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank God for the consultant criminal. Gave me a lot of advice about how to play the Holmes boys. D’you know what he calls you? The Ice Man ...” She says softly and looks across to Sherlock “... and the Virgin.” Irene says.

“Well then he must not know Mycroft that well.” I say. Irene looks at me and smirks again.

“I do think he does little sis. I can’t wait to see how you two pan out. It will be fun to see you get crushed again.” Irene says. I practically growl at her. She looks back at Mycroft. “Didn’t even ask for anything. I think he just likes to cause trouble. Now that’s my kind of man.”

“And here you are, the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees.” Mycroft stands up and bows slightly to Irene. “Nicely played. But you are wrong about our relationship. I won’t let Calliah get crushed.” He turns away, grabbing my hand.

“No.” Sherlock says. We all look at him.

“Sorry?” Irene asks.

Sherlock turns and looks at us. “I said no. Very very close, but no.” He stands and starts walking to Irene. I smiled. He wasn’t going to let her win. “You got carried away. The game was too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much.”

“No such thing as too much.” Irene says.

Sherlock walks to her and looks down at her. “Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine, craving the distraction of the game – I sympathize entirely – but sentiment? Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.”

“Sentiment? What are you talking about?” Irene asks.

“You.” Sherlock states.

“Oh dear God. Look at the poor man. You don’t actually think I was interested in you? Why? Because you’re the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?” Irene says and smiles calmly.

“No.” Sherlock says softly. He reaches out and slowly wraps the fingers of his right hand around her left wrist, then leans forward and brings his mouth close to her right ear. He whispers something into her ear. Irene frowns in confusion, while Sherlock tightens his grip a little around her wrist. He whispers something else into her ear. He releases her hand and pick up the camera phone from the table. “I imagine John Watson thinks love’s a mystery to me but the chemistry is incredibly simple, and very destructive.” He turns and walks a few paces away from her. She follows behind him until he turns and faces her again. “When we first met, you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait. How true of you: the combination to your safe – your measurements; but this ...” he tosses the phone into the air and catches it again. “... this is far more intimate. This is your heart ...” Without breaking his gaze into her eyes, he punches in the first of the four characters with his thumb. “... and you should never let it rule your head.” She stares at him, trying to stay calm but the panic is beginning to show behind her eyes. I smirk at Irene. “You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you’ve worked for ...” He punches in the second character, his eyes still locked on hers. “... but you just couldn’t resist it, could you?” Her breathing becomes heavier. Sherlock smiles briefly and triumphantly. I’ve always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage...” He hits the third character, still gazing at her. “Thank you for the final proof.” Before he can type in the fourth character, she seizes his hand and gazes up at him intensely.

“Everything I said: it’s not real.” Irene says softly. She whispers something and Sherlock whispers something back.

Gently pulling his hand free, he types in the final character. “And this is just losing.” Slowly he turns the phone towards her and shows her the screen. She looks down at it, tears spilling from her eyes. I frown at her. She gazes down at the screen in despair for a few seconds, then Sherlock lifts the phone away and holds it out towards Mycroft. “There you are, brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight.” He says, his eyes still fixed on Irene’s.

“I’m certain they will.” Mycroft says.

Sherlock turns and begins to walk towards the door. “If you’re feeling kind, lock her up; otherwise let her go. I doubt she’ll survive long without her protection.”

Irene stares after him, her eyes wide with dread. “Are you expecting me to beg?”

“Yes.” Sherlock says flatly and calmly. He stops the door, his face in profile to her. She stares at him in anguish for several seconds, then realizes that she has no choice.

“Please.” Irene begs. He doesn’t move. “You’re right.” Now he turns to look at her. “I won’t even last six months.” She says pleadingly.

“Sorry about dinner.” Sherlock says. He turns and walks to the door, opening it and walking through. She watches him go, her eyes full of horror as the door closes behind him.

I look up at Mycroft. “Go. I need to finish up here and he needs you. I will be over later.” I nod, kiss his cheek and chase after Sherlock.

“Sherlock.” I call out and run to him. I stop him and see that he is tearing up. “Oh, Sherlock.” I hug him and he hugs back.

We go back to the flat and Sherlock and I sit on the couch.

“I can’t believe that she is your sister.” Sherlock says.

“Neither can we.” I say. “I can’t believe you are okay with me dating Mycroft.”

“He deserves it. The things I said about love and sentiment in there. I only half believe it. I just have never felt that way.” Sherlock explains.

“I know Sherlock. I know someone who would love to try and help.” I say and look at him.

“Hmm? Who?” Sherlock asks.

“Molly.” I say softly. I watch him think it over and he smiles.

“Molly.” He says softly. He gets up and looks down at me. “You are going to be so good for the Holmes brothers.”

“Oh I know. Mummy Holmes agrees with us. She loves me.” I say and smile up at him.

“Who wouldn’t?” He asks and starts walking to his room. He stops and turns around. “Don’t let Mycroft touch anything.”

“I won’t. We are off to bed when he gets here.” I tell him. He nods and leaves.

I turn on the TV and wait for Mycroft. After 2 hours of waiting, I turned off the TV and went to the window. I frowned and looked at the empty streets. “Maybe he won’t come.”

A couple weeks later I see Mycroft’s car pull up, him getting out and the car leaving. It was pouring rain. I hadn’t talked or see Mycroft in those weeks. I missed him but I was more pissed than anything. I glare at nothing and fly down stairs. I rush to him. “Mycroft!” I yell. He turns to me and opens his mouth to explain. Before he gets a chance to talk, I slap him. “How dare you not contact me for weeks! I had called and texted. And what do I get back? ‘Not now Calliah.’! I understand that you were busy that day but it has been weeks!” He grabs my hands and pulls me in for a kiss. I try to pull back then give in and kiss him back. He deepens it as do I. We stand there snogging for a little, then he pulls back. “Well, er, that won’t make me forgive you.”

He laugh and pulls be close. “I know Ardaigh. I have been ignoring you. I am a jerk and you are in the pouring rain in barely anything.” I look down and notice that I was in a Doctor Who shirt and a pair of pajama shorts. I blush and laugh. “I had to deal with your sister.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“I will tell you when Doctor Watson gets here, which will be soon.” Mycroft says and moves his umbrella to cover me. He lights up a cigarette and I see John coming home. He was soaking wet. Why didn’t he bring an umbrella? John notices us and stops in surprise. He walks over to us.

“Still weird to see you two together.” John says and looks at Mycroft. “You don’t smoke.”

“I also don’t frequent cafés.” Mycroft says. He drops the cigarette on the ground and treads it out. He closes his umbrella, picks up his briefcase and turns and walks into Speedy’s leading me in. John follows us.

Not long afterwards, Mycroft and I are sitting on one side and John sitting opposite each of us at one of the tables. John picks up his mug and looks at the plastic wallet which Mycroft has put on the table in front of himself. There is a sticker on the wallet saying “RESTRICTED ACCESS – CONFIDENTIAL”. The camera phone is inside the wallet on top of various documents.

“This is the file on Irene Adler?” John asks.

“Closed forever. I am about to go and inform my brother – or, if you prefer, you are – that she somehow got herself into a witness protection scheme in America. New name, new identity. She will survive – and thrive – but he will never see her again.” Mycroft says.

“Why would he care? He despised her at the end. Won’t even mention her by name – just “The Woman”.” John says.

“Is that loathing, or a salute? One of a kind; the one woman who matters.” Mycroft says. I shake my head softly. I knew he didn’t really care about Irene.

“He’s not like that. He doesn’t feel things that way ... I don’t think.” John says.

“My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?” Mycroft asks.

“I don’t know.” John says.

“Neither do I ... but initially he wanted to be a pirate.” Mycroft informs us. I giggle as I picture a little Sherlock playing pirates with little Mycroft. He smiles briefly at John, then his gaze becomes distant and reflective.

“He’ll be okay with this witness protection, never seeing her again. He’ll be fine.” John says.

“I agree.” Mycroft breathes in sharply. “That’s why I decided to tell him that.”

“Instead of what?” John asks.

Mycroft looks at me and frowns. “She’s dead. She was captured by a terrorist cell in Karachi two months ago and beheaded.” I gasp and look away. Mycroft takes my hand. John looks at him silently for several seconds, then quietly clears his throat.

“It’s definitely her? She’s done this before.” John asks.

“I was thorough – this time. It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool me, and I don’t think he was on hand, do you?” Mycroft asks. I look back and see that they were looking at each other for a moment. “So ...” he pushes the wallet across the table towards John. “...what should we tell Sherlock?”

“I’ll tell him about America.” John says and gets up. He takes the wallet and looks at me. “Are you coming?”

“No, I haven’t seen Mycroft in a couple weeks. I think I am going to stay at Mycroft’s for a little. If you need me text or call okay?” I say.

“Okay.” John says and starts to go.

“Oh, don’t do anything fun without me.” I call after him.

He look back and smiles. “Wouldn’t think about it.” He says and then walks out.

I look at Mycroft. “Your place?” 


	22. Chapter 22

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the first part of The Hounds of Baskerville**

**I own nothing, except Calliah**

It was my second week of staying at Mycroft’s. I had missed him that few weeks and I didn’t want to leave him yet. We were lying in bed, my head on his chest and his arms around me. “You aren’t going to in trouble for missing all this work?”

He kisses my head. “No. I told you I was able to get off work.”

“You sure? Britain won’t fall?” I ask and look up at him.

“No. You are more important.” He says softly. He kisses me softly and I kiss back. He slowly moves his hand up the back of my shirt and I push him away. “Sorry.”

I shake my head and turn around. “No, I’m sorry. I just… I’m just not ready.”

He wraps his arms around me. “No, I shouldn’t have done that.”

I turn around and place a hand on his cheek. “We have been together for over a year. Why wouldn’t you try something?”

“Because we aren’t a usual couple?” He smirks.

I laugh. “No we aren’t but still…” I sigh. I look up at him. “This is a new experience for the both of us. But I want to wait. Wait till marriage.” I say softly.

“M-Marriage?” Mycroft stutters.

“I’m not saying that it will be soon or anything but I would like to wait.” I say softly and looks down.

He lifts my head. “Ardaigh. Love. I’m okay with that. I would do anything for you. I love you.” He says softly.

I grin. “I love you too.”

I spent the next week and half at Mycroft. We watched movies, read books, and was just enjoying our time together. I learned about his childhood and he learned about mine. I had to leave a week later when Mycroft was forced back to work.

I got home to see John sitting in his chair. He looks over and smirks. “Have fun at Mycroft’s?”

“I did.” I say and sit down in Sherlock’s chair. “We talked a lot. We learned more about each other.”

“Is that all you did?” John asks.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Did you get something?” John asks and smirks.

“W-What? I, er, no.” I stutter and look down.

“You sure?” John asks.

“We didn’t do anything like that. I want to wait and Croft is okay with that.” I say softly and bring my knees to my chest.

“Oh, I didn’t know. Sorry.” John says.

“It’s all good. You didn’t know.” I say.

“I shouldn’t have assumed.” John says.

I smile and look at the door and see Sherlock, who is wearing black trousers and a white shirt and whose arms, chest and face are covered with blood – far too much blood for it to be his own – and who is holding a harpoon. He looks round to us, breathing heavily. “Well, that was tedious.”

“You went on the Tube like that?!” John asks.

“None of the cabs would take me.” Sherlock says irritated. He walks out of the room.

I look at John and we bust out loud.

Later he is back in the room having cleaned himself up and changed into a clean shirt and trousers with one of his blue dressing gowns over the top. He is still carrying the harpoon and is pacing rapidly between the door and the window, looking round repeatedly at John and me who is sitting in th chair and flicking through the newspapers. “Nothing?” Sherlock asks us impatiently.

“Military coup in Uganda.” John says.

“Hmm.” Sherlock says.

I chuckle in amusement when I see another photo of Sherlock in the deerstalking cap. “Another photo of you with the cap.” I tell him.

Sherlock makes a disgusted noise. John moves onto another newspaper.

“Oh, um, Cabinet reshuffle.” John says.

“Nothing of importance?” Sherlock says furious. He slams the end of the harpoon onto the ground and roars with rage. “Oh, God!” He looks round at us intensely. “John, I need some. Get me some.”

“Some what?” I ask.

“No.” John says.

“Get me some.” Sherlock says intensely.

“No.” He says and points sternly at Sherlock. “Cold turkey, we agreed, no matter what.” Sherlock leans the harpoon against the table, irritated. “Anyway, you’ve paid everyone off, remember? No-one within a two mile radius’ll sell you any.” I frowned. Was he looking for drugs?

“Stupid idea. Whose idea was that?” Sherlock asks. John looks round at him and clears his throat pointedly. Sherlock looks towards the door. “Mrs. Hudson!” He shouts. He starts hurling paperwork off the table, desperately searching for what he needs.

“Look, Sherlock, you’re doing really well. Don’t give up now.” John says. Why was he on drugs again?

“Tell me where they are. Please. Tell me.” Sherlock says, frantically as he continues his search. As John remains silent, Sherlock straightens up and then turns his most appealing puppy-dog eyes on him, hesitating before he speaks and almost forming the word a couple of times before actually speaking it. “Please.”

“Can’t help, sorry.” John says.

“I’ll let you know next week’s lottery numbers.” Sherlock says. John chuckles. “Oh, it was worth a try. “He looks around the room, then gets inspired and hurls himself to the floor in front of the fireplace. I laugh at him. Unearthing a slipper from the pile of papers in front of the unlit fire, he holds it up and scrabbles about inside as Mrs. Hudson arrives at the door and comes in.

“Ooh-ooh!” Mrs. Hudson says. “Oh Calliah. You’re back. Have fun?”

“I did. I missed the flat and the boys and you.” I tell her.

Sherlock was rummaging about in the fireplace and speaking almost sing-song. “My secret supply. What have you done with my secret supply?”

“Eh?” Mrs. Hudson asks.

“Cigarettes! What have you done with them? Where are they?” Sherlock asks. Ah cigarettes. At least it wasn’t drugs.

“You know you never let me touch your things!” Mrs. Hudson says. She looks around at the mess. “Ooh, chance would be a fine thing.”

Sherlock stands up and faces her. “I thought you weren’t my housekeeper.”

“I’m not.” Making a frustrated noise, Sherlock stomps back over to the harpoon and picks it up again. Behind him, Mrs. Hudson looks down at John who does the universal mime for offering someone a drink. She looks at Sherlock again. “How about a nice cuppa, and perhaps you could put away your harpoon.”

“I need something stronger than tea. Seven per cent stronger.” Sherlock says as I laugh. He glares out of the window, then turns back towards Mrs. Hudson and aims the point of the harpoon at her. She flinches. “You’ve been to see Mr. Chatterjee again.”

“Pardon?” Mrs. Hudson asks.

Sherlock says, pointing with the harpoon’s tip. “Sandwich shop. That’s a new dress, but there’s flour on the sleeve. You wouldn’t dress like that for baking.”

“Sherlock ...: I say.

“Thumbnail: tiny traces of foil. Been at the scratch cards again. We all know where that leads, don’t we?” Sherlock explains. He sniffs deeply as he finally stops aiming the harpoon at her. “Mmm: ‘Kasbah Nights’. Pretty racy for first thing on a Monday morning, wouldn’t you agree? I’ve written a little blog on the identification of perfumes. It’s on the website – you should look it up.”

“Please.” Mrs. Hudson says exasperated

“I wouldn’t pin your hopes on that cruise with Mr. Chatterjee. He’s got a wife in Doncaster” Sherlock says and adopts a south Yorkshire accent to say the town’s name. “that nobody knows about.”

“Sherlock!” John says angrily.

“Well, nobody except me.” Sherlock continues.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I really don’t.” Mrs. Hudson says sadly. She storms out of the flat, slamming the living room door closed as she goes.

“Get out of my chair.” Sherlock tells me. I sigh and get up and go over to the couch. Sherlock leaps over the back of his chair from behind it, then perches on the seat, wrapping his arms around his knees like a petulant child. John slams his newspaper down.

“What the bloody hell was all that about?” John asks.

Sherlock rocks back and forth. “You don’t understand.”

 “Go after her and apologize.” John says sternly.

Sherlock stares at him. “Apologize?”

“Mmm-hmm.” John says.

Sherlock sighs. “Oh, John, I envy you so much.”

I see John hesitating, wondering whether to rise to the bait, but eventually asks. “You envy me?”

“Your mind: it’s so placid, straightforward, barely used. Mine’s like an engine, racing out of control; a rocket tearing itself to pieces trapped on the launch pad.” Sherlock says. “I need a case!” He says loudly and frantically.

“You’ve just solved one! By harpooning a dead pig, apparently!” John yells.

With an exasperated noise, Sherlock jumps up in the air and then lands in the seated position on the chair. “That was this morning!” He starts drumming the fingers of both hands on the arms of the chair while stomping his feet on the floor. “When’s the next one?”

“Nothing on the website?” I ask.

Sherlock gets up and walks over to the table, collects his laptop and hands it to John, who looks at the message on there while Sherlock stomps over the window and narrates part of it. “’Dear Mr Sherlock Holmes. I can’t find Bluebell anywhere. Please please please can you help?’”

“Bluebell?” John asks.

“A rabbit, John!” Sherlock says irritated.

“Oh.” John and I say at the same time.

“Ah, but there’s more! Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous ...” Sherlock says sarcastically. He adopts a little girl’s voice for the next three words. “... “like a fairy” according to little Kirsty; then the next morning, Bluebell was gone! Hutch still locked, no sign of a forced entry ...” He stops and his expression becomes more intense. “Ah! What am I saying? This is brilliant! Phone Lestrade. Tell him there’s an escaped rabbit.” I laugh slightly and John glares at me.

“Are you serious?” John asks Sherlock.

“It’s this, or Cluedo.” Sherlock says.

“Ah, no!” John says as he closes the laptop and gets up to put it back on the table. “We are never playing that again!”

“Why not?” Sherlock asks.

“Yeah, why?” I ask.

“Because it’s not actually possible for the victim to have done it, Sherlock, that’s why.” John says. “Calliah, you missed a lot while you were gone.”

“Well, it was the only possible solution.” Sherlock explains.

John sits down again. “It’s not in the rules.”

“Then the rules are wrong!” Sherlock asks furiously.

The doorbell rings. John holds up a finger thoughtfully as Sherlock looks towards the living room door. “Single ring.”

“Maximum pressure just under the half second.” Sherlock says.

John and Sherlock say simultaneously. “Client.”

 

Not long afterwards, a recording of a documentary is playing on the TV. Sherlock has taken off the dressing gown and exchanged it for a jacket and is sitting in his chair. John has relocated to the dining table chair near Sherlock’s, and Henry Knight, the client, is sitting in John’s chair. I was sitting on the couch. The documentary footage shows scenes of Dartmoor. Sherlock instantly looks bored.

 “Dartmoor. It’s always been a place of myth and legend, but is there something else lurking out here – something very real?” Presenter says in voiceover. Footage of “Keep Out” signs. “Because Dartmoor’s also home to one of the government’s most secret of operations ...” Sherlock’s eyes flick repeatedly between the screen and the man in John’s chair as the footage shows a large sign saying:

 

AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY

YOU ARE NOW ENTERING A RESTRICTED AREA

BASKERVILLE

 

By this time Sherlock’s eyes are permanently fixed on Henry as he watches the documentary anxiously. “... the chemical and biological weapons research center which is said to be even more sensitive than Porton Down. Since the end of the Second World War, there’ve been persistent stories about the Baskerville experiments: genetic mutations, animals grown for the battlefield. There are many who believe that within this compound, in the heart of this ancient wilderness, there are horrors beyond imagining. But the real question is: are all of them still inside?” The footage switches to an indoor scene where Henry is sitting in front of the camera talking to an offscreen interviewer. A caption at the bottom of the screen shows him as “Henry Knight, Grimpen resident”. “I was just a kid. It-it was on the moor. There’s a cutaway to a child’s drawing of a huge snarling dog with red eyes. The caption says, “Henry’s drawing (aged 9)”. “It was dark, but I know what I saw. I know what killed my father.”

Sighing, Sherlock picks up the remote control and switches off the footage. “What did you see?”

“Oh.” Henry says and points to the television. “I ... I was just about to say.”

“Yes, in a TV interview. I prefer to do my own editing.” Sherlock says.

“Yes. Sorry, yes, of course. ’Scuse me.” Henry says. He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a paper napkin and wipes his nose on it.

“In your own time.” John says.

“But quite quickly.” Sherlock says.

Henry lowers the napkin. “Do you know Dartmoor, Mr. Holmes?”

“No.” Sherlock says.

“It’s an amazing place. It’s like nowhere else. It’s sort of ... bleak but beautiful.” Henry says.

“Mmm, not interested. Moving on.” Sherlock says.

“We used to go for walks, after my mum died, my dad and me. Every evening we’d go out onto the moor.” Henry explains.

“Yes, good. Skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed. Where did that happen?” Sherlock says. John’s eyes raise skywards at Sherlock’s insensitive question.

“There’s a place – it’s... it’s a sort of local landmark called Dewer’s Hollow.” He gazes at Sherlock who tilts his head at him as if to say, “And...?” “That’s an ancient name for the Devil.”

Sherlock quirks an eyebrow. “So?”

“Did you see the Devil that night?” John asks.

His face haunted with memories, Henry looks across to him and nods. “Yes.” Henry says quietly. “It was huge. Coal-black fur, with red eyes. “It got him, tore at him, and tore him apart.” Sherlock watches him intensely. “I can’t remember anything else. They found me the next morning, just wandering on the moor. My dad’s body was never found.”

“Hmm.” I say and look across to Sherlock. “Red eyes, coal-black fur, enormous: dog? Wolf?”

“Or a genetic experiment.” Sherlock says. He looks away, biting back a smile.

“Are you laughing at me, Mr. Holmes?” Henry asks.

“Why, are you joking?” Sherlock asks.

“My dad was always going on about the things they were doing at Baskerville; about the type of monsters they were breeding there. People used to laugh at him. At least the TV people took me seriously.”

“And, I assume, did wonders for Devon tourism.” Sherlock says.

“Yeah ...” John says uncomfortably. In an attempt to stop Sherlock’s continuing sarcasm, he leans forward to Henry. Sherlock rolls his eyes when he realizes what John is doing and I laugh. “Henry, whatever did happen to your father, it was twenty years ago. Why come to us now?”

Henry sits forward, staring at Sherlock. “I’m not sure you can help me, Mr. Holmes, since you find it all so funny.” He stands up and walks around the chair, heading towards the door.

“Because of what happened last night.” Sherlock says.

“Why, what happened last night?” I ask.

Henry turns back towards them. “How ... how do you know?”

“I didn’t know; I noticed.” John shuffles on his chair and looks at me with an “Oh dear lord, here we go” expression on his face. I giggle and look at Sherlock. “You came up from Devon on the first available train this morning. You had a disappointing breakfast and a cup of black coffee. The girl in the seat across the aisle fancied you. Although you were initially keen, you’ve now changed your mind. You are, however, extremely anxious to have your first cigarette of the day. Sit down, Mr. Knight, and do please smoke. I’d be delighted.” Henry stares at him, then glances across to John who averts his gaze and sighs. Hesitantly, Henry walks back to the chair and sits down, fishing in his jacket pocket.

“How on earth did you notice all that?!” Henry asks.

“It’s not important ...” John says.

But Sherlock’s already off. “Punched-out holes where your ticket’s been checked ...”

“Not now, Sherlock.” John says.

“Oh please. I’ve been cooped up in here for ages.” Sherlock says.

“You’re just showing off.” I tell him.

“Of course. I am a show-off. That’s what we do.” Sherlock says. He turns his attention back to Henry and the napkin that he’s still holding. “The train napkin that you used to mop up the spilled coffee: the strength of the stain shows that you didn’t take milk. There are traces of ketchup on it and round your lips and on your sleeve. Cooked breakfast – or the nearest thing those trains can manage. Probably a sandwich.”

Henry half-sobs, over-awed. “How did you know it was disappointing?”

“Is there any other type of breakfast on a train? The girl – female handwriting’s quite distinctive. Wrote her phone number down on the napkin. I can tell from the angle she wrote at that she was sat across from you on the other side of the aisle. Later – after she got off, I imagine – you used the napkin to mop up your spilled coffee, accidentally smudging the numbers. You’ve been over the last four digits yourself with another pen, so you wanted to keep the number. Just now, though, you used the napkin to blow your nose. Maybe you’re not that into her after all. Then there’s the nicotine stains on your fingers ... your shaking fingers. I know the signs.” His gaze becomes intense. “No chance to smoke one on the train; no time to roll one before you got a cab here.” He glances at his watch. “It’s just after nine fifteen. You’re desperate. The first train from Exeter to London leaves at five forty-six a.m. You got the first one possible, so something important must have happened last night. Am I wrong?”

Henry stares at him in amazement, then draws in a shaky breath. “No.” Sherlock smiles smugly. “You’re right. You’re completely, exactly right. Bloody hell, I heard you were quick.”

“It’s my job.” Sherlock says and leans forward in his seat and glares at Henry intensely. “Now shut up and smoke.”

John frowns towards him. As Henry takes out a roll-up and lights it, John consults the notes he’s taken so far. “Um, Henry, your parents both died and you were, what, seven years old?”

Henry is concentrating on taking his first drag on his cigarette. As he exhales his first lungful, Sherlock stands up and steps closer to him. I frown at him. I would have to tell Mycroft about this.

“I know. That ... my ...” He stops as Sherlock leans into the smoke drifting up from the cigarette and from Henry’s mouth and breathes in deeply and noisily through his nose. Having sucked up most of the smoke, he sits down again and breathes out, whining quietly in pleasure.

“That must be a ... quite a trauma. Have you ever thought that maybe you invented this story, this ...” Henry has exhaled another lungful of smoke and Sherlock dives in to noisily hoover up the smoke again. John pauses patiently until he sits down again. “... to account for it?”

Henry drags his eyes away from Sherlock. “That’s what Doctor Mortimer says.”

“Who?” John asks.

“His therapist.” Sherlock says.

Henry says almost simultaneously. “My therapist.”

“Obviously.” Sherlock says.

“Louise Mortimer. She’s the reason I came back to Dartmoor. She thinks I have to face my demons.” Henry says.

“And what happened when you went back to Dewer’s Hollow last night, Henry? You went there on the advice of your therapist and now you’re consulting a detective. What did you see that changed everything?” Sherlock asks.

“It’s a strange place, the Hollow.” Henry says. “Makes you feel so cold inside, so afraid.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Yes, if I wanted poetry I’d read John’s emails to his girlfriends. Much funnier.” John sighs hard in an attempt to release the tension that might make him kill him. “What did you see?”

“Footprints – on the exact spot where I saw my father torn apart.” Henry says.

Looking exasperated, Sherlock leans back in his seat.

“Man’s or a woman’s?” John asks.

“Neither. They were ...” Henry starts to say.

“Is that it? Nothing else. Footprints. Is that all?” Sherlock asks interrupting.

“Yes, but they were ...” Henry starts to say.

“No, sorry, Doctor Mortimer wins. Childhood trauma masked by an invented memory. Boring! Goodbye, Mr Knight. Thank you for smoking.” Sherlock says interrupting again.

“No, but what about the footprints?” Henry asks.

“Oh, they’re probably paw prints; could be anything, therefore nothing.” Sherlock says and leans forward in his seat and flicks his fingers at Henry, gesturing him towards the door. “Off to Devon with you; have a cream tea on me.” Standing up and buttoning his jacket, he heads into the kitchen.

Henry turns in his seat to look at him. “Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!”

Sherlock stops dead in his tracks, then slowly turns and comes back to the kitchen doorway and stares down at Henry. “Say that again.”

“I found the footprints; they were ...” Henry says.

“No, no, no, your exact words. Repeat your exact words from a moment ago, exactly as you said them.” Sherlock tells him.

Henry thinks for a second, then slowly recites his words back to him. “Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic ... hound.”

Sherlock raises his head. “I’ll take the case.”

“Sorry, what?” John asks. I look over at Sherlock. Why did he want the case now?

Sherlock adopts the prayer position in front of his mouth and begins to pace slowly across the living room. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. It’s very promising.”

“No-no-no, sorry, what? A minute ago, footprints were boring; now they’re very promising?” John asks.

Sherlock stops. “It’s nothing to do with footprints. As ever, John, you weren’t listening. Baskerville: ever heard of it? Have you Calliah?”

“Vaguely. It’s very hush-hush.” John says.

“Some stuff from Mycroft.” I says.

“Sounds like a good place to start.” Sherlock says.

“Ah! You’ll come down, then?” Henry asks.

“No, I can’t leave London at the moment. Far too busy. Don’t worry – putting my best man onto it.” Sherlock says and walks over to John and pats his shoulder. “Always rely on John to send me the relevant data, as he never understands a word of it himself.”

“What are you talking about, you’re busy? You don’t have a case! A minute ago you were complaining ...” John says and laughs.

Sherlock interrupts him. “Bluebell, John! I’ve got Bluebell! The case of the vanishing, glow-in-the-dark rabbit!” He looks at Henry. “NATO’s in uproar.”

“Oh, sorry, no, you’re not coming, then?” Henry asks.

Putting on a regretful expression, Sherlock shakes his head sadly. John groans and I laugh. “Okay.” He stands up while Sherlock smiles smugly. “Okay.” He walks over to the mantelpiece and picks up the skull, taking a packet of cigarettes from underneath it. Putting the skull down again, he turns and tosses the packet across to Sherlock, who catches it and instantly tosses it over his shoulder.

“I don’t need those any more. I’m going to Dartmoor.” Sherlock says and walks out of the living room. “You go on ahead, Henry. We’ll follow later.”

Henry scrambles to his feet. “Er, sorry, so you are coming?”

Sherlock turns and walks back into the room. “Twenty year old disappearance; a monstrous hound? I wouldn’t miss this for the world!”

 

Later, John carries two large bags out onto the street, shuts the front door and walks over to Sherlock who is holding a taxi door open. I come out with my bag and pout. “I don’t want to go!” I tell Sherlock.

“Suck it up.” Sherlock says and comes to me and grabs my bag and throws it in the truck. “Get in.”

“No.” I pout and cross my arms. “I can stay at Croft’s. You don’t even need me.”

Sherlock walks to me and puts his hands on my arms. “Calliah. We do need you. You keep us from killing each other and keep me human. Please.”

I sigh and nod. “Okay.” I get into the car. Next door in Speedy’s, Mrs. Hudson is shouting angrily at an unseen Mr. Chatterjee.

“... cruise together. You had no intention of taking me on it ...” Mrs. Hudson yells.

She throws something at the closed door. As it bounces heavily off the glass, John recoils. “Oh! Looks like Mrs Hudson finally got to the wife in Doncaster.”

“Mmm. Wait ’til she finds out about the one in Islamabad.” Sherlock says. John sniggers and gets into the taxi. Sherlock follows him in. “Paddington Station, please."

 

After we get to Dartmoor, we are driving across the moors in a large black Land Rover jeep. Sherlock is driving. I didn’t even know he knew how to drive.

Sometime later, away from the road, Sherlock is standing dramatically on a large stone outcrop while John stands at the foot of it consulting a map and I was standing with John. He points ahead of himself at a large array of buildings in the distance. “There’s Baskerville.” He turns and points behind them. Sherlock and I turns to look. “That’s Grimpen Village.” He turns and looks ahead of them again, checking the map for the name of the heavily wooded area to the left of the Baskerville complex. “So that must be ... yeah, it’s Dewer’s Hollow.” Sherlock points to an area in between the complex and the Hollow.

“What’s that?” Sherlock asks.

“Hmm?” John asks. He uses the binoculars round his neck and now he lifts them and looks more closely at the fencing and the warning signs. “Minefield? Technically Baskerville’s an army base, so I guess they’ve always been keen to keep people out.”

“Clearly.” Sherlock and I say.

 

Later, we drive into Grimpen Village and pull into the car park of the Cross Keys inn. We get out and walk towards the entrance of the pub, where a young man who is apparently a tour guide is talking to a group of tourists. “... three times a day, tell your friends. Tell anyone!” We walk past the group and see that the man is standing next to a large sign on which is painted a black image of a wolf-like creature with the words “BEWARE THE HOUND!!” above it. “Don’t be strangers, and remember ... stay away from the moor at night if you value your lives!”

Sherlock has been pulling his overcoat around him as he walks towards the pub, and now he pops the collar. John looks round at him pointedly. Sherlock trying and failing to look nonchalant says “I’m cold.” The tourist group walks away from the man. Once their backs are turned he puts on a large shaggy wolf’s-head mask. Sherlock and John walk into the pub, which has a blackboard outside advertising “Boutique Rooms & Vegetarian Cuisine”. The man runs over to a couple of the nearby tourists and roars. They flinch and the woman shrieks in surprise. I stay outside and watch the man in amusement. He comes over and takes off the mask.

“I’m Fletcher.” He says to me.

I smile. “Calliah.”

“Nice to meet you.” He says.

“You too.” I say and hold out my hand for him to shake. He grabs it and kisses the top. “Oh thanks.” I say and take my hand back.

“Are one of the boys you came with your boyfriend?” He asks me.

“Um, no, act…” I start.

“So you’re open to a relationship?” He interrupts. 

“Yeah, no. She is in one.” I hear behind me. I feel an arm come around me and see that Sherlock has come back out. “Mind if I join you two?” Fletcher shrugs and gestures to the table. Sherlock puts his pint down and sits on the bench on the other side of the table. He puts my down and keeps his arm around me. “It’s not true, is it? You haven’t actually seen this ... hound thing.” He grins in a friendly way.

Fletcher looks at him suspiciously. “You from the papers?”

“No, nothing like that. Just curious. Have you seen it?” Sherlock asks.

“Maybe.” Fletcher says.

“Got any proof?” I ask.

“Why would I tell you if I did? ’Scuse me.” Fletcher says. He stands up to leave

“Bet’s off, honey, sorry.” Sherlock says and looks at me.

“Oh damn.” I say and pout, playing along. I hope Sherlock knew what he was doing.

“Bet?” Fletcher asks.

Sherlock looks at his watch.  “My plan needs darkness.” He looks up at the sky. “Reckon we’ve got another half an hour of light ...”

“Wait, wait. What bet?” Fletcher asks.

“Oh, I bet Calliah here fifty quid that you couldn’t prove you’d seen the hound.” Sherlock explains. “The guys in the pub said you could.”

Fletcher smiles and points to Sherlock. “Well, you’re gonna lose your money, mate.”

“Yeah?” Sherlock asks.

“Yeah. I’ve seen it. Only about a month ago, up at the Hollow. It was foggy, mind – couldn’t make much out.” Fletcher explains.

“I see. No witnesses, I suppose.” Sherlock says.

“No, but ...” Fletcher starts to say.

“Never are.” I say to Sherlock.

“Wait ...” Fletcher says. He shows Sherlock a photograph on his smart phone. “There.”

Sherlock and I looks at the photograph which shows a dark-furred four-legged something in the distance but, with no scale amongst the surrounding vegetation, it’s impossible to tell the size – or even the species – of the animal. He snorts. “Is that it? It’s not exactly proof, is it? Sorry, John. I win.” He picks up the stolen beer glass and makes as if to drink from it, although he never does.

“Wait, wait. That’s not all. People don’t like going up there, you know – to the Hollow. Gives them a ... bad sort of feeling.” Fletcher says.

“Ooh! Is it haunted? Is that supposed to convince me?” Sherlock asks. He puts the glass down again.

“Nah, don’t be stupid, nothing like that, but I reckon there is something out there – something from Baskerville, escaped.” Fletcher says.

“A clone, a super-dog?” Sherlock says and doesn’t really trying to hold back his sceptical snigger.

“Maybe. God knows what they’ve been spraying on us all these years, or putting in the water. I wouldn’t trust ’em as far as I could spit.” Fletcher says.

Sherlock nods to the photo. “Is that the best you’ve got?”

Fletcher hesitates for a long moment, uncertain whether to continue, but eventually he speaks reluctantly, lowering his voice. “I had a mate once who worked for the MOD. One weekend we were meant to go fishin’ but he never showed up – well, not ’til late. When he did, he was white as a sheet. I can see him now. “I’ve seen things today, Fletch,” he said, “that I never wanna see again. Terrible things.” He’d been sent to some secret Army place – Porton Down, maybe; maybe Baskerville, or somewhere else.” He leans closer. “In the labs there – the really secret labs, he said he’d seen ... terrible things. Rats as big as dogs, he said, and dogs ...” He reaches into his bag and pulls something out, showing it to us. “... dogs the size of horses.” He is holding a concrete cast of a dog’s paw print – but the print is at least six inches long from the tip of the claws to the back of the pad. Sherlock stares at it in surprise.

“Er, we did say fifty?” I ask. As Fletcher smiles triumphantly, Sherlock gets out his wallet and hands me a fifty pound note. I giggle and put it away. I was going to buy Mycroft something with that. Sulkily, Sherlock gets up and walks away. I giggle and get up and follow him.

Later, We take the car to Baskerville, Sherlock still driving. As they approach the complex. He drives up to the gates and a military security guard holding a rifle raises a hand. As Sherlock stops the jeep, the man walks around to the driver’s window. “Please.” The security guard asks. Sherlock reaches into his coat pocket and hands him a pass. “Thank you.”

He walks away with the pass. At the front of the vehicle, another security man encourages a sniffer dog to check the jeep, presumably for explosives. John leans forward from the back seat and asks quietly. “You’ve got ID for Baskerville. How?”

“It’s not specific to this place. It’s my brother’s. Access all areas. I, um ...” Sherlock clears his throat. “... acquired it ages ago, just in case.” He says softly. I look at him.

“Brilliant.” John says sarcastically

“What’s the matter?” Sherlock asks and looks at me.

“We’ll get caught.” John says as I says “I’m going to tell.”

“No we won’t – well, not just yet.” Sherlock says to John and looks at me. “No you won’t.” I roll my eyes, cross my arms, and pout.

“Caught in five minutes. “Oh, hi, we just thought we’d come and have a wander round your top secret weapons base.” “Really? Great! Come in – kettle’s just boiled.” That’s if we don’t get shot.” John says.

The gates begin to slide open as the security guard comes back over to the car. “Clear.” One of the guards say.

The security guard comes back and hands Sherlock the pass back. “Thank you very much, sir.”

“Thank you.” Sherlock says as he puts the car in gear and eases the vehicle forward.

“Straight through, sir.” The guard says.

“Mycroft’s name literally opens doors!” John says as I roll my eyes.

“Duh.” I say.

“I’ve told you – he practically is the British government. I reckon we’ve got about twenty minutes before they realize something’s wrong.” Sherlock says.


	23. Chapter 23

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the next part of The Hounds of Baskerville**

**I own nothing, except Calliah**

Sherlock drives up to the main complex at Baskerville, parks the car and we get out. Another soldier leads them through barriers and towards an entrance to the main building. As they walk, I looks around at all the military men patrolling the area, many of them armed. Even the scientists in lab coats are being escorted. As they approach the entrance, a military jeep pulls up and a young corporal gets out. I look at his name plate and see that he was Corporal Lyons.

“What is it? Are we in trouble?” Lyons asks.

“’Are we in trouble, sir?’” Sherlock says sternly. I elbow him and frown. He steps in front of them and holds out his hands to prevent them getting nearer to the entrance. “You were expecting us?”

“Your ID showed up straight away, Mr. Holmes. Corporal Lyons, security. I there something wrong, sir?” Lyons asks.

“Well, I hope not, Corporal, I hope not.” Sherlock says.

“It’s just we don’t get inspected here, you see, sir. It just doesn’t happen.” Lyons explains.

“Ever heard of a spot check?” John asks. He takes a small wallet from his pocket and shows the ID inside to the corporal. “Captain John Watson. Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.” Even before he finishes speaking, the corporal comes to attention and salutes. John crisply returns the salute. I grin at John.

“Sir. Major Barrymore won’t be pleased, sir. He’ll want to see you both.” Lyons says.

“I’m afraid we won’t have time for that. We’ll need the full tour right away. Carry on.” John says. The corporal hesitates. “That’s an order, Corporal.”

“Yes, sir.” Lyons says. He spins around and walks towards the entrance. Sherlock glances across to John with a proud smile on his face as we follow. I look at John and grin.

“That was kinda hot. You pulling rank. I can see why a lot of girls date you.” I say and giggle.

He looks at me and smiles. “Thanks. So you like a man in charge.” John says.

I laugh and nod. “Of course. My boyfriend is the British Government.” I say and laugh as John joins me laughing.

At the entrance, which is marked “AUTOMATIC SECURITY DOOR”, Lyons swipes his pass through a reader, then waits for Sherlock to walk over and do the same with his own pass. The message “ACCESS GRANTED” appears on the reader. Lyons then presses a button and the locks on the door disengage. Sherlock checks his watch. At Baskerville, the door swings open and Lyons leads us inside, taking off his beret as he goes. As he leads us towards the next security door, we talk quietly.

“Nice touch.” Sherlock says.

“Haven’t pulled rank in ages.” John says.

“Enjoy it?” Sherlock asks.

“Oh yeah.” John says and winks at me.

Reaching the door, Lyons swipes his pass and then steps aside for Sherlock to do likewise. As he does so and another “ACCESS GRANTED” message appears, the authorization request is sent out again. The doors slide opens and reveal an elevator on the other side. Lyons leads us inside and Sherlock looks at the wall panel. The lift, now on the ground floor, only goes downwards to five floors marked -1, -2, -3, -4 and B. Lyons presses the -1 button and the doors close, opening shortly afterwards on the next floor down. Lyons leads them out into a brightly lit and white tiled laboratory. As they walk forward, various scientific staff dressed either in white coveralls including full breathing masks, or in lab coats and face masks walk around the lab. There are large cages to the right of the elevator and as Lyons leads the way past them, a monkey screams and hurls itself at the bars towards them. Sherlock spins on his heel as he passes the cage, looking at the monkey and the chain around its neck.

“How many animals do you keep down here?” Sherlock asks.

“Lots, sir.” Lyons says.

“Any ever escape?” Sherlock asks.

“They’d have to know how to use that lift, sir. We’re not breeding them that clever.” Lyons says and laughs.

“Unless they have help.” Sherlock says.

A man who just took his mask off comes over to the group. “Ah, and you are?” he asks us.

“Sorry, Doctor Frankland. I’m just showing these gentlemen and lady around.” Lyons explains.

“Ah, new faces, huh? Nice. Careful you don’t get stuck here, though. I only came to fix a tap!” Frankland jokes.

John chuckles politely as Frankland walks towards the lift. John turns to Lyons. “How far down does that lift go?”

“Quite a way, sir.” Lyons tells us.

“Mmm-hmm. And what’s down there?” John asks.

“Well, we have to keep the bins somewhere, sir. This way please, gentlemen and ma’am.” Lyons says. John and I follow Lyons and I look behind to see that Sherlock wasn’t coming. I stop and he starts to follow.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Not sure yet.” Sherlock tells me and we catch to Lyons and John.

“So what exactly is it that you do?” John asks.

“I thought you’d know, sir, this being an inspection.” Lyons says.

“Well, I’m not an expert, am I?” John says and I giggle.

“Everything from stem cell research to trying to cure the common cold, sir.” Lyons says.

“But mostly weaponry?” John asks.

“Oh one sort or another, yes.” Lyons says.

He swipes his card through the reader of the door at the end of the lab, then steps aside for Sherlock to do likewise.

“Biological, chemical…?” John asks.

“One war ends, another begins, sir. New enemies to fight. We have to be prepared.” Lyons explains. He sounded a lot like Mycroft. Lyons leads us through the doors and into another lab where a monkey stands up on its back legs with one hand high in the air and shrieks before sitting down again on a high metal table. As a woman walks away from the table, Lyons approaches her. “Doctor Stapleton.”

“Stapleton.” Sherlock says thoughtfully.

“Yes?” She asks and looks at us. “Who’s this?”

“Priority Ultra, ma’am. Orders from on high. An inspection.” Lyons explains.

“Really?” Stapleton asks.

“We’re to be accorded every courtesy, Doctor Stapleton. What’s your role at Baskerville?” Sherlock asks.

Stapleton looks at him and snorts with disbelieving laughter. “Er, accorded every courtesy, isn’t that the idea?” John asks.

“I’m not free to say. Official secret.” Stapleton says.

Sherlock smiles at her. “Oh, you most certainly are free…” His face and his voice becomes ominous. “…and I suggest you remain that way.”

Stapleton looks at him for a moment. “I have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. I like to mix things up – genes, mostly; now and again actual fingers.”

“Stapleton. I knew I knew your name.” Sherlock says.

“I doubt it.” Stapleton.

“People say there’s no such thing as coincidence. What dull lives they must lead.” He holds up his notebook to her and she stares at it in amazement while Sherlock watches her face closely.

“Have you been talking to my daughter?” Stapleton asks.

Sherlock puts his notebook away. “Why did Bluebell have to die, Doctor Stapleton?” He asks.

“The rabbit?” John and I ask.

“Disappeared from inside a locked hutch, which was always suggestive.” Sherlock says as Stapleton stares at him blankly.

John and I look at each other. “The rabbit.” I frown.

“Clearly an inside job.” Sherlock says.

“Oh, you reckon?” Stapleton asks.

“Why? Because it glowed in the dark?” Sherlock asks.

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. Who are you?” Stapleton asks.

Sherlock checks his watch again. He turns to Lyons. “Well, I think we’ve seen enough for now, Corporal. Thank you so much.”

“That’s it?” Lyons asks surprised.

“That’s it.” Sherlock says and turns and head briskly back towards the door. John and I frown and follow him. I hear Lyons follow behind us. “It’s this way, isn’t it?”

“Just a minute!” Stapleton calls after us.

John and I catch up to Sherlock. “Did we just break into a military base to investigate a rabbit?” John asks Sherlock quietly.

“And put Mycroft at risk?” I ask angrily. Sherlock reaches the door and swipes his card, then waits for Lyons to catch up to them and do the same with his own card.

Sherlock walks swiftly through the security doors and heads for the lift as his phone trills a text alert as mine does.

I get my phone out without stopping.

_What has Sherlock gotten into? MH_

I giggle. I would call him later.

“Twenty-three minutes. Mycroft’s getting slow.” Sherlock says.

Reaching the lift doors, he swipes his card and Lyons does likewise. The doors open revealing Doctor Frankland standing inside as if he has been waiting in there. Trying to look nonchalant, he smiles at them. “Hello…again.” We all get into the lift.

We go one floor up and the doors open. It reveals a bearded man in a military uniform who did not look happy. “Er, um, Major…” Lyons says.

“This is bloody outrageous. Why wasn’t I told?” Major Barrymore asks.

“Major Barrymore, is it?” John asks and steps out of the lift towards the Major. “Yes, well, good. Very good.” He offers Barrymore his hand to shake. “We’re very impressed, aren’t we, Mr. Holmes and Miss Adler.” I frown at John.

Barrymore refuses to take John’s hand. Sherlock and my phone sounds another text alert. I look at my phone as Sherlock says, “Deeply; hugely.” And I nod.

_Tell me what’s going on Ardaigh, please. MH_

I quickly reply.

_I have to tell you later love. I swear. CM_

Sherlock hurries towards the exit door with John and me in tow. I hear Major Barrymore follow us. “The whole point of Baskerville was to eliminate this kind of bureaucratic nonsense…” Barrymore says.

“I’m so sorry, Major.” Sherlock says.

“Inspections?!” Barrymore yells.

“New policy. Can’t remain unmonitored forever. Goodness knows what you’d get up to. Keep walking.” Sherlock tells us the last two words urgently and quietly.

“Sir!” Lyons calls out. Alarms start to blare, red lights flash and the automated security door locks itself. We all turn to Lyons “ID unauthorized, sir.”

“What?” Barrymore asks.

“I’ve just had the call.” Lyons explains.

“Is that right?” Barrymore turns to us. “Who are you?”

“Look, there’s obviously been some kind of mistake.” John says.

A little further back, I notice Frankland is slowly walking towards the group, looking thoughtful. Barrymore holds out his hand for Sherlock’s ID card, which he gives to him. He looks at the card and then up at Sherlock. “Clearly not Mycroft Holmes.” Barrymore says.

John gets out a notebook and starts writing. “Computer error, Major. It’ll all have to go in the report.”

“What the hell’s going on?” Barrymore asks/yells.

“It’s all right, Major. I know exactly who these gentlemen and ma’am are.” Frankland says.

“You do?” Barrymore asks.

“Yeah. I’m getting a little slow on faces but Mr. Holmes here isn’t someone I expected to show up in this place.” Frankland says.

“Ah, well…” Sherlock says.

Frankland offers Sherlock his hand to shake. “Good to see you again, Mycroft.” Sherlock smiles falsely and shakes Frankland’s hand. “I had the honour of meeting Mr. Holmes at the W.H.O. conference in ...” he pretends to think. “... Brussels, was it?”

“Vienna.” Sherlock corrects him.

“Vienna, that’s it.” Frankland says and turns to Barrymore. “This is Mycroft Holmes, Major. There’s obviously been a mistake.”

Barrymore turns and nods to Lyons, who goes back to the alarm switch and turns it off. The lights stop flashing and the alarm falls silent. A moment later the entrance door’s lock disengages noisily. Barrymore turns back to Frankland. “On your head be it, Doctor Frankland.”

Frankland laughs as he looks at Lyons. “I’ll show them out, Corporal.”

“Very well, sir.” Lyons says.

Sherlock spins on his heel and walks towards the now open entrance door. John, Frankland and I follow him. We go outside, and I notice that John was grimacing anxiously with an “Oh gods, I really hope we’re going to get away with this!” expression on his face. Frankland trots after them. “Thank you.” Sherlock says to Frankland.

“This is about Henry Knight, isn’t it?” Frankland asks. We don’t answer. “I thought so. I knew he wanted help but I didn’t relies he was going to contact Sherlock Holmes!” Sherlock grimaces. “Oh, don’t worry. I know who you really are. I’m never off your website. Thought you’d be wearing the hat, though.”

I laugh as Sherlock says. “That wasn’t my hat.”

“I hardly recognize him without the hat!” Frankland says.

John tries unsuccessfully to bite back a smile. “It wasn’t my hat.” I smile at Sherlock and grab his hand to show someone was listening to him.

“I love the blog too, Doctor Watson.” Frankland says.

“Oh, cheers!” John says. I smile at John.

“The, er, the Pink thing ...” Frankland says.

“Mmm-hmm.” John says.

“... and that one about the aluminum crutch!” Frankland laughs.

“Yes.” John says.

“What am I chop liver?” I ask softly. Sherlock squeezes my hand and I look up and him to see him smile at me.

Sherlock stops and turns to Frankland. “You know Henry Knight?”

“Well, I knew his dad better. He had all sorts of mad theories about this place. Still, he was a good friend.” Frankland says. He looks back the way they came and we can see that Major Barrymore is standing some distance away and watching them. He turns back to Sherlock. “Listen, I can’t really talk now.” He takes a card from his coat pocket and hands it over. “Here’s my, er, cell number. If I could help with Henry, give me a call.”

“I never did ask, Doctor Frankland. What exactly is it that you do here?” Sherlock asks.

“Oh, Mr. Holmes, I would love to tell you – but then, of course, I’d have to kill you!” Frankland says and laughs cheerfully. I snort. And then you would have the whole British Government looking for you.

“That would be tremendously ambitious of you.” Sherlock says straight faced. Frankland’s smile fades and he shrugs in embarrassment. “Tell me about Doctor Stapleton.”

“Never speak ill of a colleague.” Frankland says.

“Yes you’d speak well of one, which you’re clearly omitting to do.” Sherlock says.

“I do seem to be, don’t I?” Frankland says. He shrugs.

Sherlock raises the card that Frankland gave him. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Any time.” Frankland says.

We turn and walks away. He head to the Land Rover.

“So?” John asks.

“So?” Sherlock asks.

“What was all that about the rabbit?” John asks. Sherlock smiles briefly and pull his coat tighter around him. He flips the collar up just as we reach the car. John rolls his eyes and turns to him. “Oh, please, can we not do this, this time?”

“Do what?” Sherlock asks.

“You being all mysterious with your cheekbones and turning your coat collar up so you look cool.” John explains. As he turns to go to the car door, Sherlock looks at me and I shrug. He opens his mouth to speak but is apparently so disconcerted that for a moment he can’t find the words.

“…I don’t do that.” Sherlock says.

“Yeah you do.” John says and gets into the car.

Sherlock turns to me. “Do I do that?”

“Sometimes.” I shrug and steal the car keys. “I’m driving.” Sherlock shrugs and we get into the car.

Later, I am driving us across the moors. “So, the email from Kristy – the, er, missing luminous rabbit.” Johns says.

“Kristy Stapleton, whose mother specializes in genetic manipulation.” Sherlock explains.

“She made her daughter’s rabbit glow in the dark.” John says.

“Probably a fluorescent gene removed and spliced into the specimen. Simple enough these days.” Sherlock explains.

“So…” John says and waits for Sherlock to continue.

“So we know that Doctor Stapleton performs secret genetic experiments on animals. The question is: has she been working on something deadlier than a rabbit?” Sherlock says.

“To be fair, that is quite a wide field.” John says.

We get to Henry’s house. His home is enormous – a four-storey stone building that was probably a very important property in the area in the past. A large old-fashioned glass conservatory is attached to the rear of the building on the ground floor and a modern two-storey glass extension has been built onto the side of the house to join it to another two-storey stone building nearby. We go into the conservatory, which looks very run-down and clearly hasn’t had a paint job in years, and walk across to the door on the opposite side. Sherlock rings the doorbell and Henry opens the door. “Hi.” Henry greets us.

“Hi.” John says. I smile at Henry.

“Come in, come in.” Henry says. Wiping his feet on the doormat, Sherlock walks in and heads down the hallway. John and I follows more slowly, John stops to look into a large high-ceilinged sitting room before following Henry again.

“This is, uh… Are you, um…” John searches for the right word. “Rich?”

“Yeah.” Henry says.

“Right.” John says as I look at him and frowns. Why was John always thinking about money?

We go to the kitchen in the glass extension. I look around. “Any coffee?” I ask Henry. He nods and gets me a cuppa of coffee. I join Sherlock and we put two sugar lumps into our mugs. We are sitting on a stool at the central island and John is sitting next to him. Henry goes and stands on the other side of the island and gazes at the work surface.

“It’s- it’s a couple of words. I keep seeing. ‘Liberty’…” Henry tells us.

John reaches into his pocket for his notebook. “Liberty.”

Henry looks us at us. “’Liberty’ and… ‘in’. It’s just that.” Henry picks up the bottle of milk that’s on the island. “Are you finished?” Henry turns around to put the milk into the fridge.

John looks at us. “Mean anything to you?”

“’Liberty in death’ – isn’t that the expression? The only true freedom.” Sherlock says softly. John nods in agreement as I take a drink of my coffee.

Henry turns around, sighing. “What now, then?”

“Sherlock’s got a plan.” John says.

“Yes.” Sherlock says.

“Right.” Henry says.

“We take you back out onto the moor..” Sherlock starts.

“Okay…” Henry says nervously.

“….and see if anything attacks you.” Sherlock finishes.

“What?!” John asks.

“That should bring things to head.” Sherlock says.

“At night? You want me to go out there at night?” Henry asks.

“Mmm.” Sherlock says.

“That’s your plan?” John asks. He snorts laughter. “Brilliant.” He says sarcastically.

“Got any better ideas?” Sherlock asks.

“That’s not a plan.” John says.

“Listen, if there is a monster out there, John, there’s only one thing to do: find out where it lives.” Sherlock explains. I nod in agreement. He looks around to Henry and smiles widely at him before taking another drink from his mug. Henry doesn’t look encouraged by this. I snort and get up with my mug.

“I’m going to call Mycroft. He isn’t going to be happy about what you did Sherlock.” I start to leave and stop and look at Sherlock. I hold my hand out. “Give me the card.” Sherlock turns to me and pouts. “Now.” He groans and gives it to me.

I leave the kitchen and goes into one the bedrooms. I sit on my bed and call Mycroft.

“Ardaigh. What happened?” Mycroft asks when he answers the phone.

“Sherlock was being his stupid self again. He took your ID card.” I tell him. I hear Mycroft groan. “I got it from him.”

“Thank you love.” Mycroft says. “Now tell me exactly what happened.” I tell him what happened and lay on the bed. “Wow. My brother does know how to collect fans.”

“Oh I know. He didn’t even say anything about me. He was all like ‘Oh Sherlock Holmes’ and ‘Oh John Watson, your blog is my life’.” I say mockingly. I hear Mycroft chuckle. “It’s not funny Croft. I am Calliah Adler! People should respect that or at least notice me. I have no idea why I am here. I’m not smart like Sherlock. I don’t help out with the medical stuff because John has experience with that. Sherlock said he needed me to help John not kill him but gah. I am useless.”

“Calliah. You are not useless. You are the farthest from useless. If people don’t notice you then it is their lost. And any ways, I noticed you.” Mycroft says.

I laugh and turn to my side and curl up. “Yeah, and that is all that matters.” I sigh. “I wish you were here or I was there. I tried to convince Sherlock to let me stay but he wouldn’t hear of it.”

“I wish you were here too. I love you.” Mycroft says softly.

“I love you too. I’ll call you tomorrow?” I ask.

“Or I will.” Mycroft says.

“I might call a little later than usual. Sherlock is making us go to the moor tonight to hunt for the beast.” I say. “I’ll probably want to sleep in.”

“He is taking you to track the beast that Henry says killed someone?” Mycroft asks.

“Yes Croft. I can handle myself. I am not weak. I can defend myself.” I tell him.

He sighs. “I know you can. Call me when you are done tonight? I will worry if you don’t.”

I giggle. “I will love.”

“You have corrupted my life Ardaigh.” Mycroft says softly.

“Oh whatever. I made it better.” I say and laugh.

“Okay you have. Call me.” He says.

“Or what?” I ask.

“I won’t let you…. um… watch movies.” He threatens.

I laugh and roll my eyes. “Okay Croft. I will call. Love you.”

“I love you too Ardaigh.” Mycroft says and I hand up. I put my phone to my chest and grin. I close my eyes for a second and then go back out to the boys.

  As night begins to fall, Henry leads Sherlock, John, and me across the rocks towards Dewer’s Hollow. All four of us have flashlights to light the uneven ground below their feet. Foxes scream repeatedly in the distance. By the time they reach the woods it is almost full dark and it becomes even darker when they head into the trees. I was close by Sherlock because it was creepy out. We walk in silence for a while. “Met a friend of yours.” Sherlock says to Henry.

“What?” Henry asks.

“Doctor Frankland.” Sherlock explains.

“Oh, right. Bob, yeah.” Henry says.

“Seems pretty concerned about you.” Sherlock says.

“He’s a worrier, bless him. He’s been very kind to me since I came back.” Henry says.

“He knew your father.” I assume.

“Yeah.” Henry says.

“But he works at Baskerville. Didn’t your dad have a problem with that?” Sherlock asks.

“Well, mates are mates, aren’t they? I mean, look at you and John. Or even you and Calliah.” Henry says. I look at him questionably.

“What about us?” Sherlock asks.

“Well, I mean, he’s a pretty straightforward bloke, Calliah is a pretty young thing that doesn’t really do cases, and you…” Henry says and glances back and sees Sherlock’s grim expression, de decides not to continue. “They agreed never to talk about work, Uncle Bob and my dad.” He stops and turns to his left. As Sherlock and I stop and look at him, Henry nods in the direction he’s looking. “Dewer’s Hollow.” He says unhappily. Sherlock and I turn and look at the steep drop in the land that leads down into a misty dark valley. I frown. It was creepy. Sherlock and I head down into the Hollow, being careful to keep our balance on the steep slippery ground. Sherlock was helping me down, since I was stupid and wore heels. Henry follow us down more slowly. Sherlock reaches the bottom, turns around and places two hands on my waist and holds me as I jump down. He and I shine our torches around, finding giant paw prints all around the ground. A long anguished howl rings out. Still halfway down the slope, Henry pauses. Sherlock shines his torch up in the direction of the sound ... and his face begins to fill with horror at the sight which greets him. I look up and see a black angry wolf/dog thing. I grip onto the Sherlock’s arm. It is growls savagely from the top of the Hollow. As the beam from Sherlock’s flashlight flails along the Hollow’s rim, the thing already retreated. Sherlock recoils, his face confused and bewildered as he tries to take in what he just saw. I look at him in fright. He looks at me and frowns. From his position some distance away, Henry hurries down to join us.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Did you see it?” Henry asks us. I nod, too afraid to talk. I was gripping Sherlock’s arm. Sherlock lowers his head. He stares around, shakes his head, and removes my hands, then shoves Henry out of his way and hurries back up the hillside. Henry helps me up the hillside and we start following Sherlock.

After a little of walking, we meet up with John. I rush to him and hug him. I was shaking with fear. John looks down at me worried and holds me. “Did you hear the howling?”

Sherlock stores straight past him and we follow him.

“We saw it. We saw it.” Henry says.

“No. I didn’t see anything.” Sherlock says.

“What? What about you talking about? I was right by you and saw it!” I yell.

“I didn’t. See. Anything.” Sherlock says and hurries onwards. John, Henry and I trail along behind him.

I keep softly keep saying, “I saw it.”

We get back to Henry’s house and John picks me up and Henry and him rush inside. I was clinging to John and trying not to cry. Every time I closed my eyes I saw the thing. “Look, he must have seen it. I saw it. Calliah saw it – he must have. He must have. I can’t… why? Why?” Henry says. He stops in the doorway of the sitting room and turns back to us. “Why would he say that? It-it-it-it-it was there. It was.”

John sits me on the couch and ushers Henry to the couch. John kneels in front of me. He looks at me and Henry. “Henry, Calliah. I need you two to try and relax, please.”

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” Henry says.

“I need Croft.” I say softly.

“Listen, I’m gonna give you two something to help you two sleep, all right?” John says. He looks around the room and sees a bottle of water on a bureau nearby. He goes over to get it, while Henry unwraps his scarf from his neck, smiling.

“I don’t want anything John.” I tell him and curl up on the couch.

“This is good news, John and Calliah. It’s-it’s-it’s good. I’m not crazy and neither are you Calliah. There is a hound, there ... there is. And Sherlock – he saw it too. No matter what he said, he saw it. Right Calliah?” Henry says.

“He had to. I was right by him and I saw it. I need to call Croft.” I say and get up.

“No, you will sit there and call him. I don’t want you out of my sight.” John says. I nod and sit down.

I call Mycroft. “Ardaigh.” I hear him smile through his words.

“Croft.” I say softly. I almost start crying.

“What’s wrong? Do I need to come get you?” Mycroft says urgently.

“No. No. I just need to hear your voice. I saw something unbelievable tonight. I was a hound. It was awful. It was black and huge.” I say softly and my voice cracks.

“A hound? Okay, I am coming to get you.” Mycroft says.

“No love. John will be with me.” I say and close my eyes, only to open then the next second. “I love you.”

“I love you too Ardaigh. Are you sure you don’t want me to come out there?” Mycroft asks. I knew he was worried about me.

“I will be fine. I think we will be back in a day or two. I want to come over if I can.” I say.

“Of course you can. I want you here.” He says.

I smile and see that John had put a blanket on Henry. “Calliah, we should go to the Inn.” He tells me.

“Love, John wants to go back to the Inn. We need to find Sherlock. I will call you tomorrow?” I ask.

“Okay Ardaigh. I love you.” He says.

I grin. “I love you too. Always.” I say.

“Always and forever.” He says and I hang up. I look up and see John smiling.

“What?” I ask.

“You two are cute.” John says and laughs.

“Yeah, he would not agree with you. Mycroft Holmes isn’t cute he says. I disagree. He is adorable.” I say and get up.

“Are you sure you are good?” John asks.

“I will be fine. We need to find Sherlock. But you are driving.” I says.

We get back to the Inn and find Sherlock sitting in an armchair by a roaring open fire, his face is still full of shock and disbelief. John and I come in and He sits down in the armchair on the other side of the fire. I sit on the arm of John’s chair.

“Well, he is in a pretty bad way. He’s manic, totally convinced there’s some mutant super-dog roaming the moors. So does Calliah.” With his hands in the prayer position in front of his mouth, Sherlock glances nervously at John and me for a moment, then continues to gaze in the direction of the fire, lost in thought. “And there isn’t, though, is there? ’Cause if people knew how to make a mutant super-dog, we’d know.” Sherlock clasps his fingers together, closing his eyes and breathing heavily as if trying to fend off a panic attack. I move to him and hug him. He pulls me onto his lap and holds onto me. “They’d be for sale. I mean, that’s how it works.” I look over and see that he reaches for his notebook. Er, listen: er, on the moor I saw someone signalling. Er, Morse – I guess it’s Morse.” Sherlock blinks rapidly and repeatedly. John looks at his notes. “Doesn’t seem to make much sense.” Sherlock pulls in a sharp breath through his nose and then blows the breath out again through his mouth. I grab a hand and play with his fingers. “Er, U, M, Q, R, A. Does that mean ... anything ...” John finally realizes how distressed Sherlock is looking and pauses for a moment, then decides that he can’t be right. He puts his notebook away again and sits back in his chair. “So, okay, what have we got? We know there’s footprints, ’cause Henry found them; so did the tour guide bloke. We all heard something.” Sherlock blows out another shaky breath. John looks across to him and frowns momentarily. “Maybe we should just look for whoever’s got a big dog.”

“Henry’s right.” Sherlock says softly.

“What?” John asks.

“I saw it too.” Sherlock says, his voice shaking.

“I knew you did.” I say and he nods to me.

“What?” John asks shocked. I glare at him.

“I knew I wasn’t crazy.” I say.

“I saw it too, John.” Sherlock says.

“Just…Just a minute.” John says and leans forward. “You saw what.”

Sherlock finally meets his gaze but his face is twisted with self-loathing as he forces himself to admit the truth. “A hound, out there in the Hollow.” He talks through gritted teeth. “A gigantic hound.” John almost laughs as Sherlock looks away, trying unsuccessfully to blink back tears. I hug him and place my head on his shoulder. John sits back in his chair again, not quite able to cope with this strange reaction from Sherlock.

“Um, look, Sherlock, we have to be rational about this, okay? Now you, of all people, can’t just…” John says as Sherlock blows out another breath. “Let’s stick to what we know, yes? Stick to the facts.”

Sherlock looks round at John. “Once you’ve ruled out the impossible, whatever remains – however improbable – must be true.”

“What does that mean?” John asks.

Looking away again, Sherlock reaches down and picks up a drink from a nearby table. Looking down at his trembling hand, he sniggers. “Look at me. I’m afraid, John, Calliah. Afraid.” He takes a drink and then holds the glass up again, his hand still shaking.

“Sherlock?” John asks.

“Always been able to keep myself distant ...” He takes another drink from the glass. “... divorce myself from ... feelings. But look, you see ...” He holds up the glass and glares at his shaking hand. “... body’s betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions.” He slams the glass down onto the table and I jump. “The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment.”

“Yeah, all right, Spock, just…” John says. “…take it easy.” Sherlock is blowing out a few more breaths and still failing to bring himself under control. He glances panic-stricken at John. “You’ve been pretty wired lately, you know you have. I think you’ve just gone out there and got yourself a bit worked up. You too Calliah.” I glares at him.

“Worked… up?” Sherlock asks.

“It was dark and scary…” John says.

Sherlock laughs sarcastically. “Me?! There’s nothing wrong with me. Or Calliah.” He looks away, almost beginning to hyperventilate, then puts his fingertips to his temples, groaning in anguish. John looks at him in concern. I grab on of his hands again and wrap his arm around me.

“Sherlock…” John says as Sherlock begins blowing out breaths again, his fingers trembling against his skin. “Sher...”

“THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME!” Sherlock yells. I jump and move away. I tear up and wrap my arms around myself. He glares round at John. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” He looks round at the other patrons, all of whom are now staring at him. He looks away again, then looks at John. “You want me to prove it, yes?” He pulls in a deep breath, trying to get himself under control. “We’re looking for a dog, yes, a great big dog, that’s your brilliant theory. Cherchez le chien. Good, excellent, yes, where shall we start?” The patrons have gone back to their eating. Sherlock looks over his shoulder and points towards a man and woman sitting opposite each other at a table in the corner of the restaurant. His voice becomes savage and relentless as he goes into deduction mode. “How about them? The sentimental widow and her son, the unemployed fisherman. The answer’s yes.”

“Yes?” John asks.

“She’s got a West Highland terrier called Whisky. Not exactly what we’re looking for.” Sherlock says.

“Oh, Sherlock, for God’s sake…” John says quietly.

Sherlock looks briefly across at the man and his knitted jumper with reindeer and holly leaves on it before turning away again. “Look at the jumper he’s wearing. Hardly worn. Clearly he’s uncomfortable in it. Maybe it’s because of the material; more likely the hideous pattern, suggesting it’s a present, probably Christmas. So he wants into his mother’s good books. Why? Almost certainly money.” Sherlock says in quick fire. He takes another quick glance at the man. “He’s treating her to a meal but his own portion is small. That means he wants to impress her, but he’s trying to economize on his own food.”

“Well, maybe he’s just not hungry.” John says.

“No, small plate. Starter. He’s practically licked it clean. She’s nearly finished her pavlova. If she’d treated him, he’d have had as much as he wanted. He’s hungry all right, and not well off – you can tell that by the state of his cuffs and shoes.” Sherlock says, becoming almost frenetic. He asks the question he’s expecting to come from John at any moment. “How d’you know she’s his mother?” John, who until now has been looking at his colleague with concern as Sherlock’s voice – while lowered – has become increasingly intense, smiles briefly. “Who else would give him a Christmas present like that? Well, it could be an aunt or an elder sister, but mother’s more likely. Now, he was a fisherman. Scarring pattern on his hands, very distinctive – fish hooks. They’re all quite old now, which suggests he’s been unemployed for some time. Not much industry in this part of the world, so he’s turned to his widowed mother for help. “Widowed?” Yes, obviously. She’s got a man’s wedding ring on a chain round her neck – clearly her late husband’s and too big for her finger. She’s well-dressed but her jewellery’s cheap. She could afford better, but she’s kept it – it’s sentimental. Now, the dog tiny little hairs all over the leg from where it gets a little bit too friendly, but no hairs above the knees, suggesting it’s a small dog, probably a terrier. In fact it is – a West Highland terrier called Whisky. “How the hell do you know that, Sherlock?” ’Cause she was on the same train as us and I heard her calling its name and that’s not cheating, that’s listening, I use my senses, John, unlike some people, so you see, I am fine, in fact I’ve never been better, so just Leave. Me. Alone.” He glares at John, who stares back at him in shock.

“Yeah.” John says and clears his throat. “Okay. Okay.” Distressed by his colleague’s venom, he tries to settle back in his chair while Sherlock stares towards the fire, breathing heavily. “And why would you listen to me? I’m just your friend.”

“I don’t have friends.” Sherlock says savagely.

“Naa. Wonder why?” John says softly. He gets up and pushes past me. I watch him leave and frown.

“Calliah. Sit.” Sherlock says softly.

I look at him. “Why?”

“I need to tell you something.” He says. I sit down in the car that John left. “I don’t believe we saw anything. Maybe a dog or a regular wolf, but not the hound that Henry thinks it is. I think we were drugged.”

I look at me. “Who? How?”

“Someone in Baskerville. With Henry’s sugar.” Sherlock says.

“That makes more sense. Why would they?” I ask.

“Not sure. Will you help me with something?” He asks.

“Sure.” I say.

“I need to test my theory. And I am going to do it on John.” He explains. He looks over and smiles.

“What?” I look over and see a women. “She catches your fancy?”

“No, but she is Henry’s therapist. We should get our best man on that job.” Sherlock says. He texts John.

_Henry’s therapist currently in Cross Keys Pub S_

He gets an answer

_So?_

Sherlock rights right back.

_Interview her?_

John replies

_WHY SHOULD I?_

“He is really mad.” I tell him.

Sherlock takes a photo of the woman and sends it to John. “He will come now.” I laugh as we go up to the room.

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the next part of The Hounds of Baskerville**

**I own nothing, except Calliah**

In the morning, Sherlock and I went to Henry’s house. Sherlock knocks on the door. As soon as Henry opens the door, Sherlock surges though, being loudly cheerful. “Morning!” He says. I roll my eyes and smile at Henry softly. Sherlock comes back and clasps Henry by the shoulders. “Oh, how are you feeling?” Henry looked terrible. He looked like he hasn’t slept and was worried. I frown at him. Sherlock ducks his head down to get a better into Henry’s face.

“I’m…I didn’t sleep very well.” Henry confesses exhaustedly.

“That’s a shame. Shall I make you some coffee?” Sherlock asks. He looks up at the ceiling above the door and points. “Oh look, you’ve got dump!” He grins falsely at him until Henry turns his head to look at the ceiling, then drops the smile and turns and walks away towards the kitchen. I chuckle softly and follows him. Hurrying over to the cupboards, he starts opening and closing each one rapidly. Finally he finds the metal jar that he’s looking for and takes it out, rummaging inside it while he elbows the cupboard door closed. Tucking something inside his coat, he goes over to the sink and picks up a couple of mugs, taking them over to the central island just as Henry tiredly wanders in.

“Listen… last night.” Henry starts. Sherlock gives him that horrifying attempt at a friendly smile while he takes the top off the coffee tin. I sit down and chuckle. Sherlock cannot smile. “Why did you say you hadn’t seen anything? I mean, I only saw the hound for a minute, but...” Sherlock has been dumping spoonfuls of coffee into the mugs without even looking, his eyes locked on Henry’s, and now he slams the coffee tin down onto the surface and steps closer to him, his eyes back to their normal intensity.

“Hound.” Sherlock says.

“What?” Henry asks.

“Why do you call it a hound? Why a hound?” Sherlock asks.

“Why – what do you mean?” Henry asks.

“It’s odd, isn’t it? Strange choice of words – archaic. It’s why I took the case. “Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound.” Why say “hound”?” Sherlock says.

“I don’t know! I…” Henry says.

“Actually, I’d better skip the coffee.” Sherlock says. He flares out of the kitchen.

Henry sighs wearily. I look at him as I get up. “Sorry about him. He is going through a lot. He will fine soon.” I say and then leave.

Later, Sherlock and I are walking back through the village but Sherlock stops when he sees John in the church graveyard, sitting on the steps of a war memorial and looking through the notes in his notebook. I keep walking and smile at John. He smiles softly and I sit by him. Sherlock goes through the kissing gate and walks along the path towards John, who looks up as he hears him approach. His expression becomes uncomfortable as he tucks his notebook into his pocket. Grimacing briefly, Sherlock stops in front of him, also looking awkward. “Did you, er, get anywhere with that Morse code?” Sherlock asks.

John gets down and helps me down. “No.” he starts walking and I walk with him.

“U, M, Q, R, A, wasn’t it?” Sherlock asks. John and I keep walking and I hear Sherlock following. “UMQRA.”

“Nothing.” John says.

“U.M.Q…” Sherlock starts to say.

“Look, forget it. It’s… I thought I was on to something. I wasn’t.” John explains.

“Sure?” Sherlock asks.

“Yeah.” John says.

“How about Louise Mortimer? Did you get anywhere with her?” Sherlock asks.

“No.” John says.

“Too bad.” I say.

“Did you get any information?” Sherlock asks. I chuckle.

John smiles briefly and glances over his shoulder but still keeps walking. “You being funny now?”

“Thought it might break the ice a bit.” Sherlock explains.

“Funny doesn’t suit you. I’d stick to ice.” John says and I laugh.

“John…” Sherlock says and I hear the pain in his voice. I look back and frown.

“It’s fine.” John says.

“No, wait. What happened last night ... Something happened to me; something I’ve not really experienced before ...” Sherlock says.

“Yes, you said: fear. Sherlock Holmes got scared. You said.” John says.

Sherlock catches up to us, takes a hold of John’s arm and pulls him round to face him. I stop and turn to the boys. “No-no-no, it was more than that, John. It was doubt. I felt doubt. I’ve always been able to trust my senses, the evidence of my own eyes, until last night.”

“You can’t actually believe that you saw some kind of monster.” John says and then looks at me. “You either Calliah.”

“No, I can’t believe that.” Sherlock says and John looks back as Sherlock grins bitterly for a moment. “But I did see it, so the question is: how? How?”

“Yes. Yeah, right, good. So you’ve got something to go on, then? Good luck with that.” John says and walks away from us. Sherlock turns and calls after him.

“Listen, what I said before, John. I meant it.” Sherlock says. John stops and turns to us. “I don’t have friends.” He bites his lip briefly. “I’ve just got one.” I look at him. John looks away as he takes that statement in for a moment, then he nods briefly and glances back at Sherlock.

“Right.” He turns and walks away.

“And then what am I?” I ask.

“My family.” He says and I grin.

“John? John!” Sherlock calls after John and starts chasing him. I groan and follow. I shouldn’t have brought heels on this trip. Never listening to ‘Anthea’ again. “You are amazing! You are fantastic!”

“Yes, all right! You don’t have to overdo it.” John says, not stopping.

Sherlock and I catch up to John and Sherlock walks backwards in front of us. “You’ve never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light you are unbeatable.”

“Cheers… What?” John asks. Sherlock turns around and walks beside John, taking out his own notebook. I needed to get a notebook.

“Some people who aren’t geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others. Sherlock explains and I laugh.

“Hang on – you were saying “Sorry” a minute ago. Don’t spoil it. Go on: what have I done that’s so bloody stimulating?” Sherlock stops just outside the pub door and turns back to John and me, showing what he has just written in his notebook:

HOUND

“Yeah?” John asks.

Sherlock pulls back his notebook and writes in it again. “But what if it’s not a word? What if it is individual letters?” He shows us the notebook and now it reads:

H.O.U.N.D.

“You think it’s an acronym?” John asks.

Sherlock puts his notebook away. “Absolutely no idea but…” He turns towards the pub door and trails off when he sees a familiar figure standing inside at the bar. Wearing grey trousers and a grey shirt with a light jacket over the top, heavily suntanned and with sunglasses on, Detective Inspector Lestrade has his hands in his trouser pockets. Sherlock storms into the pub. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Greg!” I smile and rush over. I had become good friends with Greg over the year.

I hug him and he hugs back. “Hello doll.” He looks at Sherlock. “Well, nice to see you too. I’m on holiday, would you believe?”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Sherlock says.

Greg takes off his sunglasses off as John walks over. “Hullo, John.”

“Greg!” John says.

“I heard you were in the area. What are you up to? You after this Hound of Hell like on the telly?” Greg asks us.

“I’m waiting for an explanation, Inspector. Why are you here?” Sherlock asks.

“I’ve told you: I’m on holiday.” Greg says.

“You’re brown as a nut. You’re clearly just back from your ‘holiday’.” Sherlock says.

“Yeah, well I fancied another one.” Greg says and tries to look nonchalant.

“Oh, this is Mycroft, isn’t it?” Sherlock asks. I smiled, Mycroft was worried.

“No, look…” Greg starts to say.

“Of course it is! One mention of Baskerville and he sends down my handler to ... to spy on me incognito. Is that why you’re calling yourself Greg?” Sherlock says. I bust up laughing.

“That’s his name.” John explains.

“It is?” Sherlock asks, frowning.

“Yes – if you’d ever bothered to find out. Look, I’m not your handler ...” Greg says and turns away to pick up his pint from the bar. “... and I don’t just do what your brother tells me.”

“Yes you do.” I say softly.

“Actually, you could be just the man we want.” John says.

“Why?” Sherlock asks.

“Well, I’ve not been idle, Sherlock.” John says and rummages in his trouser pocket. “I think I might have found something.” He shows us a sale invoice from Undershaw Meat Supplies. “Here. Didn’t know if it was relevant; starting to look like it might be. That is an awful lot of meat for a vegetarian restaurant.”

“Excellent.” Sherlock says.

John looks at Greg. “Nice scary inspector from Scotland Yard who can put in a few calls might come in very handy.” Sherlock and Greg exchange a look, and John slaps his hand down on the bell on top of the bar. “Shop!”

Later we are in a small Snug next to bar. I was standing with Sherlock at the coffee machine. “Time to test my theory. Are you doing okay?” He asks me.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” I ask.

“Well, you were freaked out about that thing. Even if it was drugs, it can be scary.” Sherlock explains.

I shake my head. “I’ll be fine. I just hate that I can’t help. I feel so… unhelpful. Extra baggage that you two don’t need.” I say and sigh.

“You aren’t.” Sherlock says as he puts some of Henry’s sugar into the mug.

“Yeah. I might just go upstairs and sleep. Okay?” I ask.

“Sure. Are you sure you’re okay?” Sherlock asks. “Should I get Mycroft to come get you?”

“No. I just need to sleep. I’ll text you and find out where you are. I’ll meet up with you then.” I say and smile at Sherlock.

“Okay…” he says softly. I go up to the room and lays down. I curled up and thought about calling Mycroft but thoughts against it. He didn’t need me to bother him. I sigh and try get my thoughts under control. I was useful. The boys liked having me around. I kept thinking this but my brain wasn’t agreeing with me. I had a little voice saying that I was worthless. Mycroft would give up on me. Sherlock thought I was an idiot. John felt pity for me. I sit up and bring my knees to my chest and start to rock.

“Not an idiot. Useful.” I say softly.

I keep repeating this for a while as I rocked. I close my eyes and suppress a sob.

Useless. Idiot. Hindrance.

These words were running through my head.

I get up and grab my make-up bag. I rummage through it and find what I was looking for. My blade. I shallow and go into the bathroom. I sit on the edge of the tub and think about where to do it. I decide on my stomach and stand up. I move my shirt up and make a cut on the side of my stomach. I sigh in relief and close my eyes. My brain was finally shutting up. I make a couple more and lean against the sink and smile. Finally, quite. I turn around and clean up. I felt a lot better and I could even take a nap now. I didn’t sleep well because of the hound, but I could sleep now. I lay down and fall asleep.

I wake up to my phone ringing. I groan and answer it. “Hullo?”

“Why aren’t you with the boys?” I hear.

I rub my eyes, still half-asleep. “Who is this?” I asks and yawn.

“Your boyfriend.” I hear and I smile.

“Croft. How are you?” I ask.

“I’m fine. Why aren’t you with Sherlock and John?” He asks.

“I was tired. I needed some more sleep.” I say and sit up. I groan slightly. I look down and see blood on my shirt. Shit. They opened up.

“Are you okay?” Mycroft asks.

“Fine. Amazing.” I tell him. I get up and go to the bathroom. I set my phone down and turn it on speaker. “Just needed some alone time. You know Sherlock can me.”

“Yeah. I just… you are doing okay? In all aspects?” Mycroft asks. He was worried about me cutting. I hated lying but I couldn’t tell him.

“I’m fine Croft. I swear.” I tell him and take off my shirt. I turn on the water in the sink. “I need to get ready and go meet the boys okay?”

“Okay… Call me later?” Mycroft asks.

“Of course. Love you.” I say softly.

“Love you too.” He says and I hang up.

I sigh and clean myself up. I text John and ask where they are at. He tells me Baskerville. I nod and get dressed and head on my way.

I get to Baskerville and find the boys in a lab. “Hullo.” I say and smile at them. Sherlock was looking into the microscope and John was sitting on a stool with his head propped on his hand, gazing blankly into space. Stapleton was standing near John.

John looks over at me. “Calliah. Where were you?”

“Didn’t Sherlock tell you? I went and took a nap.” I tell him.

“Oh yes. Come sit. Sherlock was just testing something.” John tells me and I go and sit by him. When I get up on the stool, I groan. The cuts were still sore. John looks at me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Perfect.” I say and look at Sherlock. I see that he is staring at me. “What?” He shrugs.

“It was the GFP gene from a jellyfish, in case you’re interested.” Stapleton tells us.

“What?” John asks.

“In the rabbits.” Stapleton says.

“Mmm, right, yes.” John says.

“Aequoria Victoria, if you really want to know.” Stapleton says proudly.

“Why?” I ask.

“Why not? We don’t ask questions like that here. It isn’t done.” Stapleton says. “There was a mix-up, anyway. My daughter ended up with one of the lab specimens, so poor Bluebell had to go.”

“Your compassion’s overwhelming.” John says cynically.

“I know. I hate myself sometimes.” Stapleton says mockingly.

“So, come on then. You can trust me – I’m a doctor. What else have you got hidden away up here?” John asks.

Stapleton sighs. “Listen: if you can imagine it, someone is probably doing it somewhere. Of course they are.”

“And cloning?” John asks.

“Yes, of course. Dolly the Sheep, remember?” Stapleton says.

“Human cloning?” I ask.

“Why not?” Stapleton asks.

“What about animals? Not sheep… big animals.” John asks.

“Size isn’t a problem, not at all. The only limits are ethics and the law, and both those things can be ... very flexible. But not here – not at Baskerville.” Stapleton explains.

Furious, Sherlock stands up, snatches the latest slide out from under the ’scope and hurls it against the nearest wall. I shriek and jump. “It’s not there!”

“Jesus!” John says.

“Nothing there! Doesn’t make any sense.” Sherlock says.

“What were you expecting to find?” Stapleton asks.

“A drug, of course. There has to be a drug – a hallucinogenic or a deliriant of some kind. There’s no trace of anything in the sugar.” Sherlock explains.

“Sugar?” John asks.

“The sugar, yes. It’s a simple process of elimination. Calliah and I saw the hound – saw it as my imagination expected me to see it: a genetically engineered monster. But I knew I couldn’t believe the evidence of my own eyes, so there were seven possible reasons for it, the most possible being narcotics. Henry Knight – he saw it too but you didn’t, John. You didn’t see it. Now, we have eaten and drunk exactly the same things since we got to Grimpen apart from one thing: you don’t take sugar in your coffee.” Sherlock explains.

“I see. So…” John says.

“I took it from Henry’s kitchen – his sugar.” Sherlock says. He glares down at the microscope. “It’s perfectly all right.” I frown. So we weren’t drugged.

“But maybe it’s not a drug.” John says.

“No, it has to be a drug.” Sherlock says. He sits on the stool with his head buried in his heads. Now he lowers his hands a little but keeps his head bowed and his eyes closed. “But how did it get into our systems. How?” He slowly raises his head but still keeps his eyes closed. “There has to be something…” He turns his head. “…something…ah, something..” He takes a sharp breath through his nose, he turns and points imperiously at Stapleton. “Get out.”

“What?” Stapleton asks.

“Get out. I need to go to my mind place.” Sherlock explains.

“Your what?” Stapleton asks.

Sherlock has already turned his head away again and is staring ahead of himself. John gets off his stool and picks up his jacket. “He’s not gonna be doing much talking for a while. We may as well go.” John explains. I get up and go to John.

“Calliah. Stay.” I hear. I turn around and see Sherlock looking at me.

“Why?” I ask as Stapleton and John leave.

“I like you in here. Just walk around or do something.” Sherlock says and goes back to thinking. I sighs and walk around. This stuff was amazing. “Come here Calliah.” I hear after a while. I look at Sherlock and see him looking at me.

“You figure it out?” I ask as I walk over.

“Of course. But that doesn’t matter at the moment. Come here.” He says.

“Of course it matters.” I say as I get in front of him.

“Show me your stomach.” He says.

I step back. “W-What? Why?”

“Just show me.” He says.

“No!” I say and back up more. Sherlock gets up and walks towards me. “Get away.”

“Please Calliah.” Sherlock says. I walk back more and bump into a table. I look around but know I couldn’t escape. Sherlock gets to me and looks at me. “Calliah.”

I tear up and look anywhere but at him. “Go tell John what you found out.”

He slowly lifts my shirt and I try to stop him. He gets to the scars and takes a sharp breath. “Calliah.” He says softly.

I push him away and run out of the lab into John. “Calliah? What’s wrong?”

“N-Nothing.” I say and wipe my eyes. Sherlock comes out and looks at me. “It’s nothing.” I say and smile at John.

“I need to go to Barrymore’s office.” Sherlock says and starts walking. John looks at me and follows him with Stapleton. I close my eyes and calm myself down. Sherlock wasn’t going to want me to do cases with him. John would pity me more. I sigh and follow them. 


	25. Chapter 25

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the last part of Hounds in Baskerville**

**I own nothing, except Calliah**

Stapleton leads us to Major Barrymore's office. As we go into the room, Sherlock points to the door they just came through. "John."

"Yeah, I'm on it." John says. He turns back to keep an eye on the door while Stapleton goes over to sit down at a computer.

"Project HOUND. Must have read about it and stored it away. An experiment in a CIA facility in Liberty, Indiana." Sherlock says and stands behind Stapleton. I sit down and bring my knees to my chest. Sherlock knew. How did he know this but never figured out that I was dating Mycroft? Probably because this was physical and that was emotional, but still. I sigh and look at Sherlock. Would he tell John? Would he tell Mycroft? Shit. Mycroft would be so mad. He was doing good with his problem and I wasn't. He would probably break up with me. Oh, God. He was going to break up with me. Oh, God. I start to breath heavily and close my eyes. I was going to end up alone. John and Sherlock would kick me out so they won't have to deal with a crazy person. Mycroft was going to break up with me and I would have to move into my sister's house, which was technically mine now, but I don't want to live there. I would be alone. All alone. I start rocking and breathing even harder. I feel hands on my arms and I jump and look up. I see Sherlock kneeling in front of me. "Calliah. Breathe in and out slowly." He says softly. I nod and breathe slowly. I see John and Stapleton looking at me worried and I frown. They would pity me. I hate pity. I close my eyes and start to breathe heavy again. "Calliah… Please open your eyes." Sherlock pleads with me. I slowly open my eyes. "Good. Now listen to me and only look at me. Okay?" I nod. "Good. Now breathe in and out. Can you do that slowly?" I nod and slow down my breathing. "Good. You are doing good. Now, do you want me to call Mycroft?" I shake my head and start breathing heavy again. "Okay. Okay. I won't call him. Calm the breathing again please." I nod and slow my breathing. "Good. Look at me in the eye." I look at him. "I won't tell anyone." He says softly so no one else hears. "I swear I won't. It is your secret but I want to talk about why after this case okay? Please do that for me." He says and frowns. I nod. "Okay good." He holds out his hand and I take it. He wraps an arm around me and looks at John. "She is fine. Just a little panic attack."

John nods as his phone starts ringing. He digs out his phone and frowns at it. He answers it. "Hello? Who's this?" He looks at Sherlock. "It's Louise Mortimer." He tells us. "Louis, what's wrong?" He asks into the phone. "What? Where- where are you? Right: stay there. We'll get someone to you, okay?" He hangs up and starts to text.

"Henry?" Sherlock asks.

"He's attacked her." John explains.

"Gone?" Sherlock asks.

"Mmm." John says.

Sherlock gets his phone out and hits a speed dial. "There's only one place he'll go to: back to where it all started." He tells us. "Lestrade. Get to the Hollow… Dewer's Hollow, now. And bring a gun." Sherlock says into the phone and hangs up. "Calliah, I want you to go back to the Inn. Please." I open my mouth to complain. "Mycroft will kill me if I let you go. Henry is not safe and has a gun. Go. Now!" He yells and runs off. John looks at me and smiles, and then follows Sherlock. I sigh and nod.

"Off to wait…" I say and head towards the exit.

Couple of hours later, Sherlock and John get to the room. "What happened? Are you two okay?" I ask and stand up.

"We're fine. It was Frankland. He put the drugs in pressure pads in the Hallow. Frankland killed Henry's father. Little Henry just put things together wrong." John explains.

"Did Greg take Frankland to jail or whatever?" I ask.

"No. Frankland ran into the mind field and was… yeah." John says.

I frown. "That sucks."

"It was a normal dog we all saw and heard. The owners had a dog and just couldn't put it down, so they let it run free." John says. I nod and look over. I see that Sherlock was asleep.

"You can sleep on my bed. I'm not tired." I tell John and go and sit on the couch.

"No, you take the bed." John tries to say. I can see that he is tired and won't put up much fight.

"I won't sleep on it. If you don't take it then I will sleep on the floor." I tell him.

He sighs and nods. "Okay. I will take the bed. Try and get some sleep though." He tells me.

I nod. "I will. I'm going to get a pint to see if I can get tired. Maybe read a book." I tell John and I see him nod and he falls asleep. I creep out of the room and go downstairs. I see Greg and go over to him. "Hey Greg. Can't sleep?"

"No. Just thinking." Greg says.

"About what?" I ask.

"Life. That Henry guy. He believed that he was crazy for most of his life. I would hate to feel like that. It would be a horrible way to live." Greg says and picks up his pint and drinks it.

"Yeah. I'm going to go read. See you soon?" I ask.

"Sure thing." He says.

I go over to a corner and sit in a chair. I bring my knees to my chest and pull out my phone. I needed to call Mycroft. I sigh and press the speed dial for him.

"Hello." He says.

"Croft." I say softly. "I'm sorry." I say and start crying.

"What's wrong Ardaigh?" He asks.

"I did it. I cut." I say softly.

I hear him sigh. "Why honey?" He asks.

"I just… I had that voice in my head. It was the only way to stop it. I needed to stop it." I say and try to control my crying.

"You should have called me Ardaigh. I would have talked you through it." He says.

"I'm sorry." I say and closes my eyes.

"It's okay. Just talk to me. You have to talk to me or we do things we regret." He says softly.

"I know love… I'm sorry. Please don't break up with me." I say softly.

"I would never. I swear. We will work through this together." He says.

"Okay Croft." I say softly.

"Go get some sleep. When will you be home?" He asks.

"Tomorrow." I tell him.

"I'll have a car waiting. Just text me when you are five minutes away. I want to see you." He says.

"Okay. I'll see you then." I say.

"I love you." Mycroft says softly.

"Love you too." I say and then hang up. I sigh and go back up to the room and fall asleep.

John wakes me up the next morning and we go down to the dinner. John and I are sitting outside. One of the owners comes out with a vegetarian full breakfast for John and a couple eggs for me. "Mmm. Thanks, Billy." John says.

"Thanks." I say softly.

"What was the panic attack about yesterday, if you don't mind?" John asks.

I sigh and put my fork down. "I cut." I say softly.

John looks up and frowns. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

I smiles softly and shake my head. "You should know. Mycroft knows and se does Sherlock. You three are my boys and you deserve to know the whole story." Sherlock comes over and hands us all mugs of coffee. "Good, you're here. Now I don't have to say this twice." I take a mug and sip it. "My sister was my best friend until we found out my dad wasn't my dad. Then she got very… violent. That whipping she gave us was nothing compared to what I use to get. She would tell me that I was worthless, useless, and a nobody all the time. When we passed in the hall, while she was whipping me, really any chance she got. She would say such horrible things to me and soon I believed her. That is why I wore those big sweat shirts and pants all the time. I didn't care what others thought because I didn't care about myself. When my sister kicked me out, some of the other homeless girls told me that they cut to get rid of their voices and I tried it. It worked and I really have never stopped. It helped when I hear that little voice tell me things like my sister use to. Mycroft has helped me but it gets to me." I say and poke at my eggs.

"Wow. Calliah. I am so sorry for what you had to deal with." John says and comes over to me and hugs me. I laugh softly and hug back.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and I look over at Sherlock. "If you need to talk, ever, come to John or I. Please." He says.

I nod. "I will."

John goes back to the other side of the table and starts eating his breakfast. "So, what happened to me in the lab?"

"What lab?" I ask.

"I saw the dog in the lab." John tells me.

"Oh, okay." I say and start eating.

John sighs and looks at Sherlock. "Okay fine but I hadn't been to the Hallow, so how come I heard those things in there? Fear and stimulus, you said."

Sherlock looks down at my food and steals a bite. "You must have been dosed with it elsewhere, when you went to the lab, maybe. You saw those pipes – pretty ancient, leaky as a sieve; and they were carrying the gas, so ... um, can I eat the rest?" I nod and he takes my plate.

"Hang on: you thought it was in the sugar." John says. Sherlock stares at John. "You were convinced it was in the sugar."

Sherlock looks away. "Better get going." Sherlock looks at his watch. "There's a train that leaves in half and hour, so if you want…"

John turns his head. "Oh God. It was you. You locked me in that bloody lab."

I look at Sherlock and laugh. He glares at me and looks at John. "I had to. It was an experiment."

"An experiment?!" John asks furiously.

Sherlock looks at the people around us. "Shhh."

"I was terrified, Sherlock. I was scared to death." John says quieter, but still furious.

"I thought that the drug was in the sugar, so I put the sugar in your coffee, then I arranged everything with Major Barrymore." John sighs in exasperation. "It was all totally scientific, laboratory conditions – well, literally." Sherlock explains what he did. "Well, I knew what effect it had had on a superior mind, so I needed to try it on an average one." John looks up from his plate. "You know what I mean."

John goes back to eating. "But it wasn't in the sugar."

"No, well, I wasn't to know you'd already been exposed to the gas." Sherlock says.

"So you got it wrong." John says.

"No." Sherlock says.

"Mmm. You were wrong. It wasn't in the sugar. You got it wrong." John says.

"A bit. It won't happen again." Sherlock says.

John sighs and continues eating. "Any long-term effects?"

"None at all. You'll be fine once you've excreted it. We all will. Calliah is already off it." Sherlock says. I look up and smile. Sherlock looks around. He gets up.

"Where're you going?" John asks.

"Won't be a minute. Gotta see a man about a dog." Sherlock says and smiles down at us. He turns and walks away.

We get home later and a car is waiting for me. "Okay, boys. I will talk you later. I have to go see my man." I say and walk to the car.

"Don't call my brother your man." I hear Sherlock say and I look back to see him shutter.

I laugh and get into the car and see 'Athea'. "Hey 'Anthea'. Where is Mycroft?"

"He was away and told me to pick you up." 'Anthea' explains. I nod and close my eyes as we head to Mycroft's house. I go inside and change into my pajamas and go to the living room. I sit and start watching TV to past the time. After fours hours of waiting, the front door opens and Mycroft walks in.

"Croft." I say and smile. He looks over and smiles softly. "What's wrong?" I ask and walk over.

"I messed up Ardaigh." He says and frowns.

 


	26. Chapter 26

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the first part of the fall.**

**I own nothing, except Calliah**

Sherlock’s business was becoming more popular and we had cases all the time. The one that make Sherlock famous was the Reichenbach case.

“ _Falls of the Reichenbach_ , Turner’s masterpiece, thankfully recovered owing to the prodigious talent of Mr. Sherlock Holmes.” The patrons applaud. We were all standing nearby. The Director gives a small gift-wrapped box to Sherlock. “A small token of our gratitude.”

Sherlock takes the box and looks at it. “Diamond cufflinks. All my cuffs have buttons” I chuckle and take the box from Sherlock.

“He means thank you.” John says to the Director.

“Do I?” Sherlock asks.

“Just say it. I wanna get out of here.” I say softly.

“Thank you.” Sherlock says insincerely to the Director. He grabs my hand and we start walking away.

John holds us back. “Hey.” Sherlock and I unwillingly stop and the press start taking photos.

Our next case was a kidnapping case. We were outside the banker’s house, the rescued man is standing with his arms around his wife and young son and the press film and photograph them while we were standing uncomfortably nearby. I hated the press. They thought I was dating Sherlock and John. I rolled my eyes when I read that one.

“Back together with my family after my terrifying ordeal; and we have one person to thank for my deliverance – Sherlock Holmes.” The man says. As the public applauds, the little boy smiles and offers a small gift-wrapped box to Sherlock.

Sherlock takes it and rattles it. “Tie pin. I don’t wear ties.” He says to us.

“Shh.” John says.

Greg held a press conference for our latest case. We were at Scotland Yard and we were standing in the front with Greg. “Peter Ricoletti: number one on Interpol’s Most Wanted list since 1982. But we got him; and there’s one person we have to thank for giving us the decisive leads ... with all his customary diplomacy and tact.”

Sherlock smiles insincerely towards Greg and John leans closer to Sherlock and speaks quietly. “Sarcasm.”

“Yes.” Sherlock says.

As the press applauds, Greg walks over to Sherlock and gives in a gift-wrapped package, smiling cheerfully. “We all chipped in.” Sherlock tears open the wrapping paper and he pulls out of a deerstalker hat.

“Oh.” Sherlock says and tries to smile.

“Put the hat on!” Some reporters call out.

“Yeah, Sherlock, put it on.” Greg says.

Sherlock looks at the reports and John clears his throat uncomfortably. “Just get it over with.” John says softly. Glowering at him, Sherlock shoves the wrapping paper into his hands, and then unhappily puts the hat on his head. Flashbulbs go mad and everyone applauds. At the back of the room, Sally claps with sarcastic delight while Andersongrins smugly. I glare at them. Sherlock smiles at the press through gritted teeth and glances at Greg as if promising him a world of pain later.

A few days later, we are at the flat. John is sitting on the sofa reading the papers while I was sitting in John’s chair. Sherlock comes stomping in and throws the Daily Star onto the pile of newspapers on the coffee table. “’Boffin’. ‘Boffin Sherlock Holmes’.” Sherlock says indignantly.

“Everyone gets one.” John says.

“One what?” Sherlock asks.

“Tabloid nickname: ‘SuBo’; ‘Nasty Nick’. Shouldn’t worry – Calliah and I’ll be getting one soon.” John explains.

“Page five, column six, first sentence.” Sherlock tells John. He looks at me. “You are always Beautiful Calliah Mullen-Adler.” He tells me. I grin and bring my knees to my chest. Sherlock goes over to the fireplace, picks up the deerstalker, holds it up and punches it angrily. I chuckle at him. “Why is it always the hat photograph?”

“’Bachelor John Watson’?” John says as he looks at the newspaper.

“What sort of hat is it anyways?” Sherlock asks.

“’Bachelor’? What the hell are they implying?” John asks.

Sherlock holds up the hat and twists it back and forth rapidly. “Is it a cap? Why has it got two fronts?”

John glances up briefly. “It’s a deerstalker.” He looks down and reads a part of the article. “Frequently seen in the company of bachelor John Watson…”

“And Beautiful Calliah Muller-Adler.” I add and grin.

“You stalk a deer with a hat? What are you going to do – throw it?” Sherlock asks.

John looks at another part of the article. “…confirmed bachelor John Watson!”

“Some sort of death Frisbee?” Sherlock asks.

“Okay, this is too much. We need to be more careful.” John says.

“It’s got flaps…ear flaps. It’s an ear hat, John.” Sherlock says and accurately skims the hat across the room to John. John catches it and I clap. “What do you mean ‘more careful’?” Sherlock asks.

“I mean this isn’t a deerstalker now; it’s a Sherlock Holmes hat. I mean that you’re not exactly a private detective any more.” He holds his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “You’re this far from famous.”

“Oh, it’ll pass.” Sherlock says. He slumps down into his armchair and folds his hands in the prayer position in front of his mouth.

“I’d better pass. The press will turn, Sherlock. They always turn, and they’ll turn on you.” John says.

Sherlock lowers his hands and looks more closely at John. “It really bothers you.”

“What?” John asks.

“What people say.” Sherlock says.

“Yes.” John says.

“About me? I don’t understand – why would it upset you?” Sherlock asks.

John holds his gaze for a moment, then looks away. “Just try to keep a low profile. Find yourself a little case this week. Stay out of the news.” John catches my eyes and I smile softly.

Sherlock and I were sitting in the kitchen. He was looking into a microscope and I was reading. John comes into the kitchen as Sherlock’s phone goes off with a text alert. I look up and see that John is just in his bathrobe. “Well hello John.” He rolls his eyes and laughs. He knew I loved him like a brother and knew I was picking fun. He throws the towel he was drying his neck off at me. It lands on my head and I grab it and throw it back.

“It’s your phone.” John says to Sherlock.

“Mm. Keeps doing that.” Sherlock says disinterestedly.

John walks into the living room, passing the mannequin Sherlock hung in the living room, and sits in his chair and picks up a newspaper. “So, did you just talk to him for a really long time?”

Sherlock looks up and glances at the mannequin. “Oh. Henry Fishgard never committed suicide.” He picks up an old hardback book from the table and slams it shut in a flurry of dust before going back to his microscope. I chuckle at him and shut my book. “Bow Street Runners: missed everything.”

“Pressing case, is it?” John asks.

“They’re all pressing ‘til they’re solved.” Sherlock says.

Sherlock’s phone sounds a text alert again. John lowers his newspaper. “I’ll get it, shall I?” John asks tetchily.

“No I will John. Go back to reading.” I say and smile. John smiles back and I get up and get it. I look at the text and the blood drains from my face.

_Come and Play. Tower Hill. Jim Moriarty X_

I turn and take it to the kitchen. “Sherlock…” I say softly.

“Not now Calliah, I’m busy. Go call up Mycroft and annoy him.” Sherlock says, not looking up.

“Sherlock, he’s back…” I say softly. Sherlock lifts his head and takes the phone. Sherlock’s eyes widen and he sinks back on his chair.

I get out my phone and text Mycroft.

_It has started. CM_

We go to the Tower and are watching the recorded security footage taken from behind Jim as he sticks the gum onto the glass. He pushes something into the gun.

“That glass is tougher than anything.” Greg tells us.

“Not tougher than crystallized carbon. He used a diamond.” Sherlock tells us.

Greg adjusts the footage, which shifts to a recording taken from the other side of the glass. The footage is also reverse, showing the glass rising back up into place before it shattered. As Jim pulls the fire extinguisher back again and the glass becomes whole, the message which he scrawled onto it becomes clear. He deliberately wrote the words backwards on the glass so that they would be seen from the camera on the other side of the case. With the smiley face inside the “O”, the message reads:

GET SHERLOCK

John and I turn and stare at Sherlock but his eyes are fixed on the screen.

I go out in a black dress that went to my knees. On the top was lace and it had a belt. I had on Mycroft’s promise ring on, as well as, a ring with black diamonds in a shape of a heart and a black bangle. I had on black heels. I was putting on my black drop earrings as I walked into the living room. John is standing in front of the mirror in the living room. He is wearing a suit and finishes tying his tie before putting his jacket on. Near the sofa, Sherlock is buttoning up his own jacket while watching John’s reflection. Sherlock leads the way downstairs and goes to the front door, then stops and turns to the side to allow John and me to pass him and John reaches out towards the door.

“Ready?” John asks us.

“Yes.” Sherlock says.

“I hope.” I say and smile softly.

Bracing himself, John opens the door. Police officers are trying to hold back the large crowd of journalists who immediately start photographing us and calling out questions as the police clear the way and allow us through to the waiting police car. They get into the back and the car pulls away and races off with its sirens wailing.

We were going around Trafalgar Square, when John looks at Sherlock. “Remember…” He says.

“Yes.” Sherlock says instantly.

“Remember…” I say insistently.

“Yes.” Sherlock says even more quickly.

John looks at him in frustration. “Remember what they told you: don’t try to be clever…” John says quickly.

“No.” Sherlock says over him.

“….and please, just keep it simple and brief.” John finishes.

“God forbid the star witness at the trial should come across as intelligent.” Sherlock says and I chuckle.

“’Intelligent’, fine; let’s give ‘smart-arse’ a wide berth.” John says.

Sherlock pauses and then says “I’ll just be myself.” I start laughing and John elbows me.

“Are you listening to me?” John asks irritated.

We get to Old Bailey and get inside. Sherlock goes to the restroom and John and I sit down and wait. “How is Mycroft?” He ask me.

“Amazing. We are doing great. I’m so happy he opened up to me in this way. I have known him for a long time.” I say and play with my promise ring.

“He has helped you a lot. You haven’t… um… done you know what in a while.” John says.

“You and Sherlock helped with that too. I feel like I can share more. I’m completely happy. I have my boys and I love you all.” I say and grin.

He chuckles. “Well, I know Sherlock and I are happy that you are happy. Do you think you will marry Mycroft?”

I blush. “I hope. I can’t see myself with anyone else.” I say and grin.

“He will do it soon.” He says as Sherlock leaves the restroom. We get up and head to the court room.

John and I are sitting in the public gallery upstairs. Sherlock is in witness box and I was hoping that he wouldn’t say anything to bad.

“A ‘consulting criminal’.” The prosecuting barrister says.

“Yes.” Sherlock says.

“Your words. Can you expand on that answer?” the barrister asks.

“James Moriarty is for hire.” Sherlock explains.

“A tradesman?” Barrister asks.

“Yes.” Sherlock says.

“But not the sort who’d fix your heating?” Barrister asks.

“No, the sort who’d plant a bomb or stage an assassination, but I’m sure he’d make a pretty decent job of your boiler.” Sherlock says.

There’s muffled laughter from some people in the court. Okay so far so good.

“Would you describe him as…” Barrister starts to say.

“Leading.” Sherlock interrupts.

Spoke too soon.

“What?” Barrister asks.

“Can’t do that. You’re leading the witness.” Sherlock explains. He looks towards the defending barrister. “He’ll object and the judge will uphold.”

The judge looks exasperated. “Mr. Holmes.”

“Ask me how. How would I describe him? What opinion have I formed of him? Do they not teach you this?” Sherlock asks.

“Mr. Holmes, we’re fine without your help.” The judge says.

“How would you describe this man – his character?” Prosecuting barrister asks.

“First mistake.” Sherlock says. He raises his eyes and lock his gaze onto Jim. “James Moriarty isn’t a man at all – he’s a spider; a spider at the center of a web – a criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances.” Jim almost imperceptibly nods his head in approval of the description. The prosecuting barrister clears her throat awkwardly.

“And how long…” the prosecuting barrister starts to ask.

Sherlock closes his eyes in exasperation. “No, no, don’t – don’t do that. That’s really not a good question.”

“Mr. Holmes.” The judge says angrily.

“How long have I known him? Not really your best line of enquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun; he tried to blow me up.” Sherlock says. “I felt we had a special something.” He finishes sarcastically.

“Miss Sorrel, are you seriously claiming this man is an expert, after knowing the accused for just five minutes?” The judge asks.

“Two minutes would have made me an expert. Five was ample.” Sherlock says.

“Mr. Holmes, that’s a matter for the jury.” The judge says.

“Oh, really?” Sherlock asks. His eyes turn towards the jury box. John raises his hand to his head in an all-too-recognizable “oh, shit, NO!” gesture. I giggle softly, Sherlock turns the full force of his gaze onto the twelve people sitting in the jury box. “One librarian; two teachers; two high-pressured jobs, probably the City.” He focuses on someone. “The foreman’s a medical secretary, trained abroad judging by her shorthand.”

“Mr. Holmes!” The judge says.

“Seven are married and two are having an affair – with each other, it would seem! Oh, and they’ve just had tea and biscuits.” Sherlock says and turns to the judge. “Would you like to know who ate the wafer?”

“Mr. Holmes. You’ve been called here to answer Miss Sorrel’s questions, not to give us a display of your intellectual prowess.” The judge says.

Sherlock takes a breath but can’t help looking up towards John and me and smiling a little at the acknowledgement of his ‘intellectual prowess’. John stares at him sternly, while I smile at him.

“Keep your answers brief and to the point. Anything else will be treated as contempt. Do you think you could survive for just a few minutes without showing off?” The judge asks. Sherlock pauses while he gives the question some thought, then opens his mouth and draws in a breath

Sherlock was thrown into a cell. He was thrown into a cell. That was amazing. I never thought he would get thrown into a cell. I giggle to myself when I think about it. “Come on Calliah. Let’s go get our convict.” John says and helps me up. I giggle as we go down to the cells.

While he signs for his personal property, John is standing beside him leaning back against the desk with his arms folded. I was standing by Sherlock.

“What did I say? I said, ‘Don’t get clever’.” John says.

“I can’t just turn it on and off like a tap.” Sherlock says.

“I thought it was funny. Made my day.” I say and giggle.

Sherlock takes the bag of items from the custody officer, he turns to John as we begin to walk away. “Well?”

“Well, what?” John asks.

“You were there for the whole thing, up in the gallery, start to finish.” Sherlock says.

“Like you said it would be.” John says.

“He sat on his backside, never even stirred.” I say, referring to Jim’s defending barrister.

“Moriarty’s not mounting any defense.” Sherlock says.

We walk into the living room of our flat. “Bank of England, Tower of London, Pentonville. Three of the most secure places in the country and six weeks ago Moriarty breaks in, no-one knows how or why.” John says and sits down in his armchair while Sherlock begins to pace. I sit in Sherlock’s chair. “All we know is ...”

“…he ended up in custody.” Sherlock finishes. He stops and turns to John. John takes a breath.

“Don’t do that.” John says.

“Do what?” Sherlock asks.

“The look.” John says.

“Look?” Sherlock asks.

“You’re doing the look again.” John explains.

“Well, I can’t see it, can I?” Sherlock asks. John points to the mirror on the wall as if Sherlock’s an idiot for not realizing it’s there. Sherlock turns his head and looks at his reflection. “It’s my face.”

“Yes, and it’s doing a thing. You’re doing a “we both know what’s really going on here” face.” John explains.

“Well, we do.” Sherlock says.

“No. Calliah and I don’t, which is why we fine The Face so annoying.” John says.

“If Moriarty wanted the Jewels, he’d have them. If he wanted those prisoners free, they’d be out on the streets. The only reason he’s still in a prison cell right now is because he chose to be there.” Sherlock says and starts to pace again. “Somehow this is part of his scheme.”

The next day, John went back to the case. Sherlock had to stay away, because he was banned, which I laughed a lot about. I stayed because I had to. I had to watch Sherlock. Mycroft asked me to. Sherlock was sitting sideways on the sofa with his back against the arm nearest the window. He was reciting what I think the judge would be saying. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. James Moriarty stands accused of several counts of attempted burglary, crimes which – if he’s found guilty – will elicit a very long custodial sentence; and yet his legal team has chosen to offer no evidence whatsoever to support their plea. I find myself in the unusual position of recommending a verdict wholeheartedly. You must find him guilty.” Sherlock closes his eyes. “Guilty.” He says in a whispers.

A little while later, John calls. Sherlock listens to what John has to say and then hangs up. “Not Guilty, Calliah.” He gets up and comes to me. “Calliah, go to your room.”

“Nope.” I say and smile. “I have orders to stay with you.”

“Screw what he tells you to do. Jim is coming over and you can’t be in here.” Sherlock says.

“Sherlock. I have to be in here. I’ll sit on the couch and say nothing, but I have to be here.” I tell him.

He sighs and nods. “Fine.” He switches on the kettle and slams down a small tray beside it, putting a jug of milk, a sugar bowl, a teapot and two cups and saucers with teaspoons onto the tray. The kettle comes to the boil and switches off and Sherlock, now wearing a jacket in place of the dressing gown, makes the tea and takes the tray to the table beside John’s chair, then walks over to his own chair and picks up his violin and bow. I move to the sofa and sit with my legs underneath me. As he begins to play Bach’s Sonata No. 1 in G minor, downstairs the front door is expertly lock picked and pushed open. Partway up, one of the stairs creaks noisily and Jim pauses for a moment, as does Sherlock’s playing. A couple of seconds later Sherlock resumes from a few notes before where he stopped and Jim starts to climb the stairs again. Sherlock, standing with his back to the living room door, keeps playing until Jim pushes open the door, then he stops but doesn’t yet turn around. Jim smirks at me and I wave and smile.

“Most people knock.” Sherlock says. He shrugs. “But then you’re not most people, I suppose.” He gestures over his shoulder with his bow towards the table. “Kettle’s just boiled.”

Jim walks further into the room and bends to pick up an apple from the bowl on the coffee table. “Johann Sebastian would be appalled.” He says and tosses the apple and catches it. He looks around the living room as if searching for a seat. “May I?”

Sherlock turns to face Jim. “Please.” He gestures with the end of his bow towards John’s chair.

Jim immediately walks over to Sherlock’s chair and sits in that one instead. Sherlock looks slightly unnerved. Jim takes out a small penknife and starts to cut into the apple while Sherlock puts down the violin and begins to pour tea into the cups. “You know when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son at the piano playing one of his pieces. The boy stopped before he got to the end ...” Jim starts.

“... and the dying man jumped out of his bed, ran straight to the piano and finished it.” Sherlock finishes.

“Couldn’t cope with an unfinished melody.” Jim says.

“Neither can you. That’s why you’ve come…” Sherlock says.

“But be honest: you’re just a tiny bit pleased.” Jim says.

“What, with the verdict?” Sherlock asks. He picks up one of the teacups, adds a splash of milk and turns and offers the cup to Jim, who sits up straighter and takes it.

“With me…” Jim says. “…back on the streets.” He says softly. He gazes up into Sherlock’s eyes, smiling. “Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain.” He grins. Sherlock turns away and adds milk to his own cup. “You need me, or you’re nothing. Because we’re just alike, you and I – except you’re boring.” He shakes his head in disappointment. “You’re on the side of the angels.” He sips his tea as Sherlock picks up his own cup and stirs his drink.

“Got to the jury, of course.” Sherlock says.

“I got into the Tower of London; you think I can’t worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?” Jim asks.

“Cable network.” Sherlock says.

“Every hotel bedroom has a personalized TV screen…” Jim says. “... and every person has their pressure point; someone that they want to protect from harm.” He stares at the TV screen in horror. “Easy-peasy.”

By now Sherlock has unbuttoned his jacket and sat down in John’s chair. In a perhaps unconscious mimicking of the man seated opposite him, he too has his cup lifted close to his mouth. “So how’re you going to do it…” He pointedly blows gently on his tea. “…burn me?”

“Oh, that’s the problem – the final problem. Have you worked out what it is yet?” Jim asks. Sherlock has taken a sip of his tea and looks across his cup to the other man. “What’s the final problem?” He smiles across his own cup. “I did tell you ...” sing-song but still softly. “... but did you listen?” He takes another sip of tea and then puts the cup down into the saucer. Putting his hand onto his knee, he starts idly drumming his fingers. I watch the movement. “How hard do you find it, having to say “I don’t know”?”

Sherlock puts his cup into its saucer and shrugs. “I dunno.” I chuckle softly.

“Oh, that’s clever; that’s very clever; awfully clever.” Jim says. He chuckles in an upper class tone. Sherlock smiles humorlessly while putting his cup back onto the tray. “Speaking of clever, have you told your little friends yet?” Jim looks at me.

“Told them what?” Sherlock asks and looks at me. I shrug.

“Why I broke into all those places and never took anything.” Jim explains and looks back at Sherlock.

“No.” Sherlock says.

“But you understand.” Jim says.

“Obviously.” Sherlock says.

“Off you go, then.” Jim says. He has carved a piece off his apple and puts it into his mouth with the flat of his penknife.

“You want me to tell you what you already know?” Sherlock asks.

“No; I want you to prove that you know it. And so Calliah can find out.” Jim says.

“You didn’t take anything because you don’t need to.” Sherlock explains.

“Good.” Jim says softly.

“You’ll never need to take anything ever again.” Sherlock continues.

“Very good. Because…?” Jim asks.

“Because nothing ... nothing in the Bank of England, the Tower of London or Pentonville Prison could possibly match the value of the key that could get you into all three.” Sherlock finishes.

“I can open any door anywhere with a few tiny lines of computer code. No such thing as a private bank account now – they’re all mine. No such thing as secrecy – I own secrecy. Nuclear codes – I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order. In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king; and honey, you should see me in a crown.” Jim says and smiles in delight at Sherlock.

“You were advertising all the way through the trial. You were showing the world what you can do.” Sherlock says.

“And you were helping. Big client list: rogue governments, intelligence communities ... terrorist cells. They all want me.” Jim says and lifts another piece of apple to his mouth with the penknife. “Suddenly, I’m Mr. Sex.”

“If you could break any bank, what do you care about the highest bidder?” Sherlock asks.

“I don’t. I just like to watch them all competing. “Daddy loves me the best!” Aren’t ordinary people adorable? Well, you know: you’ve got John and Calliah. I should get myself a live-in one. Maybe take one?” Jim says.

“Why are you doing all of this?” Sherlock asks.

“It’d be so funny.” Jim says, talking about have a live-in ordinary person.

“You don’t want money or power – not really.” Sherlock says. Jim digs the point of his penknife into the apple. “What is it all for?”

Jim sits forward and speaks softly. “I want to solve the problem – our problem; the final problem.” He lowers his head. “It’s gonna start very soon, Sherlock: the fall.” he raises his head and whistles a slowly descending note as he gradually looks down towards the floor. “But don’t be scared. Falling’s just like flying, except there’s a more permanent destination.” His gaze reaches the floor and he makes the sound of something thudding to the ground. Raising his head slowly, he glowers across at Sherlock, who bares his teeth slightly and then stands and buttons his jacket.

“Never liked riddles.” Sherlock says.

Jim stands as well and straightens his jacket, locking his gaze onto Sherlock’s eyes. “Learn to. Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I … owe… you.” He continues to gaze at Sherlock for about six seconds, sealing his promise, then slowly turns and walks away. Sherlock doesn’t move as Jim leaves the room, but after a while he moves towards the apple which Jim left on the arm of his chair with the penknife still stuck in it. He picks it up by the knife handle and looks at it. I walk over and see that Jim has dug a large circular piece out of the apple, and on the left of the circle he has carved an “I” shape while on the right of the circle is a “U” shape, forming the letters “I O U”. Sherlock’s mouth twitches into the beginning of a smile.

**If you want to see Calliah’s outfit, go here: http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=145754333**


	27. Chapter 27

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the first part of the fall.**

**I own nothing, except Calliah**

It had been two months since Jim had gotten out. I was out with John at NatWest cashpoint machine. He messes with it as I lean on the wall beside him. He grimaces and frowns. “What?” He points to the machine and I look.

_Thank you for your patience._

I look and see Mycroft’s car pull up. “Croft!” I smile and go to the car. John sighs and gets in. We are driven to The Diogenes Club. I’ve never been here. We go inside and enter a large room. A large marble fireplace surrounds an unlit fire and the walls have heavy wooden paneling and ornate white plaster coving. The room contained five small round tables, each with a single armchair beside it, and four of them were currently occupied by middle-age or elderly gentlemen. They were all reading newspapers and didn’t even notice us. John looks around and then walks over to one of the older men sitting at the far end of the room.

“Er, excuse me. Um, I’m looking for Mycroft Holmes.” John says. The old man’s face becomes appalled but he doesn’t look up. “Would you happen to know if he’s around at all?” Some of the other men in the room look round at us but don’t speak. They all glare at me. “Can you not hear me?” The old man looks up at him and huffs indignantly. He also glares at me. John holds out a placatory hand to him. “Yes, all right.” He turns around to the others in the room. “Anyone?” The others turn their faces away from us. “Anyone at all know where Mycroft Holmes is? We’ve been asked to meet him here. The old man lifts his walking stick and pushes the end of it repeatedly onto a button on the nearby wall. A distant bell rings. John looks around in confusion while the gentlemen ignore us, look at him annoyance, or glare at me. “No takers? Right.” He raises his voice. “Are we invisible? Can you actually see us?” Just then three men wearing dress coats walk into the room. John and I turn to them. “Ah, thanks, gents.” The men, wearing white gloves and soft white overshoes to muffle their footsteps, walk briskly over to us. “I’ve been asked to meet Mycroft Holmes…” He stops as two of the men walk either side of him and firmly seize his arms. The third man come over and offers me his arm. I smile and take it. “What the…? Hey!” John yells. As they almost lift him off his feet, one of them put his other hand over John’s mouth to silence him. His muffled protests continue while we rapidly leave the room.

We are lead to another small room, where Mycroft is pouring himself a drink from a crystal decanter. I look at the doors and see that they are closed. “Croft.” I say and skip over to him and kiss him on the cheek. “Hello.”

He smiles at me. “Hello love. At least you got the tradition. Too bad our friend, Doctor Watson, did not.” He says and looks at John.

“So total silence is traditional, is it? You can’t even say, ‘Pass the sugar’.” John says.

“Three-quarters of the diplomatic service and half of the government front bench all sharing one tea trolley. It’s for the best, believe me.” Mycroft says and smiles round at John but then his face becomes grimmer as he walks towards a pair of armchairs in the middle of the room. “They don’t want a repeat of 1972. But we can talk in here.”

John walks to a small table and picks up a copy of “The Sun” which was lying on it. He brandishes it at Mycroft. “You read this stuff?”

“Caught my eye.” Mycroft said.

John sits down in one of the armchairs. “Mmm-hmm.”

“Saturday: they’re doing a big expose.” Mycroft says.

John reads some of the newspaper.  “I’d love to know where she got her information.”

“Someone called Brook. Recognize the name?”  Mycroft asks us. I shake my head and frown.

“What information?” I ask.

“Kitty Riley, a reporter, is saying that Sherlock Holmes is a fraud. Richard Brooks, a man that says that he has know Sherlock for decades and considered him a close friend, has said that Sherlock paid him to help.” Mycroft explains to me.

“Maybe a school friend?” John suggests.

Mycroft laughs in a snide way. I frown and slap his arm. “Shut up.” I look at John. “Sherlock didn’t have school friends.”

“That isn’t why I asked you two here.” Mycroft says and walks to a side table and picks up several folders. Returning to John he gives him on of them. John opens the file and looks at it.

“Who’s this?” John asks.

“Don’t know him?” Mycroft asks.

“No.” John says.

“Never seen his face before?” Mycroft asks.

John looks at the file again. “Umm….”

“He’s taken a flat in Baker Street, two doors down from you guys.” Mycroft explains.

“Hmm! I was thinking of doing a drinks thing for the neighbors.” John says and smiles sarcastically up at Mycroft who looks back at him straight-faced.

“Not sure you’ll want to.” Mycroft says and nods towards the folder. “Sulejmani. Albanian hit squad. Expertly-trained killer living less than twenty feet from your front door.”

“It’s a great location. Jubilee line’s handy.” John jokes.

“John…” I say softly.

“What’s it got to do with me and Calliah?” John asks.

Mycroft walks over and gives him another file. “Dyachenko, Ludmila.” He sits in the other chair. I walk over and sit on his lap and he wraps an arm around my waist.

John opens the file and looks at it. “Um, actually, I think I have seen her.”

“Russian killer. She’s taken the flat opposite.” Mycroft tells us.

“Okay… I’m sensing a pattern here.” John says a little nervous.

Mycroft hands him the rest of the files. “In fact, four top international assassins relocate to within spitting distance of two hundred and twenty-one B. Anything you care to share with me?”

John looks at the other files and chuckles. He looks up at us. “I’m moving?!”

Mycroft looks back at him unamused, and then narrows his eyes. “It’s not hard to guess the common denominator, is it?”

“You think this is Moriarty?” John asks.

“He promised Sherlock he’d come back.” Mycroft says.

“If this was Moriarty, we’d be dead already.” John says.

“If not Moriarty, then who?” Mycroft asks.

“Why don’t you talk to Sherlock if you’re so concerned about him?” John asks. Mycroft looks at my hand and plays with my ring. “Oh God, don’t tell me.”

“Too much history between us, John. Old scores; resentments.” Mycroft says. I could tell him he was hiding something. What was he hiding.

“Nicked all his Smurfs? Broke his Action Man?” John asks. Mycroft glowers at him. John laughs and then pulls himself together and puts the files onto the table beside him. “Finished.” He says in a whisper. He gets up and turns to leave.

“We all know what’s coming, John.” Mycroft says. John stops and turns back, clearly struggling to control his anger. “Moriarty is obsessed. He’s sworn to destroy his only rival.”

“So you want me to watch out for your brother because he won’t accept your help.” John says tightly.

“If it’s not too much trouble.” Mycroft says and directs a smile at John but it quickly fades and his expression becomes more threatening. John hold his gaze, then looks away, and nods in a resigned way. He looks up at me.

“Calliah, are you coming?” John asks.

I try and get up but Mycroft stops me. “No, she will be staying away for a little.”

“Oh, am I?” I ask.

“Yes.” Mycroft says and looks at me. I sigh and look at John.

“Text me for anything big.” I tell him. He nods and leaves.

I turn to Mycroft. “What are you hiding?” I ask.

He sighs and grabs his drink and shallows it in one gulp.

Late that night, I was at Mycroft and I feel my phone make the text alert. I get my phone out and see a text from John.

_Scotland Yard. Now._

I reply.

_On my way. CM_

I tell Mycroft where I was going and rush out.

I get to Scotland Yard and go by an office, where Sherlock is pacing and John is sitting near by. I sit by John. “What’s going on?”

“US ambassador’s kids went missing. We found them and Sherlock is waiting to talk to them.” John explains. I nod as Donovan and Greg come out.

“Right, then. The professionals have finished. If they amateurs wanna go in and have their turn…” Donovan says sarcastically to Sherlock. I get up and glare at her. “Oh look, the other freak is here. A set now.”

John and I walk over to them. Greg looks at Sherlock seriously. “Now, remember, she’s in shock and she’s just seven years old, so anything you can do to..” He starts to say.

“…not be myself.” Sherlock finishes.

“Yeah. Might be helpful.” Greg says.

Sherlock looks at us and does everything but rolls his eyes. He unpops his collar and leads us into the office. The little girl is sitting at a table and looking down at her lap. A female liaison officer is sitting beside her stroking her arm reassuringly.

“Claudette, I..” Sherlock starts to say, before the little girl looks up, takes one look at him and begins to scream in terror. “No-no, I know it’s been hard for you..” She continues screaming and scrambles to get away while pointing at him. “Claudette, listen to me…”

“Out. Get out!” Greg yells. He grabs his harm and bundles Sherlock out of the room as the girl’s screams continue. John and I follow behind looking worried.

Shortly afterwards, Sherlock is standing at the window of another office looking out into the night through the slats of the Venetian blinds. Donovan is watching him from the other side of the office. I glare at her, wondering what she was thinking.

“Makes no sense.” John says.

“The kid’s traumatized. Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper.” Greg says.

“So what’s she said?” John asks.

“Hasn’t uttered another syllable.” Greg says.

“And the boy?” John asks.

“No, he’s unconscious; still in intensive care.” Greg explains. “Well, don’t let it get to you. I always feel like screaming when you walk into a room! In fact, so do most people.” He looks round to us. I get up and slap his head. “Ouch!”

“Don’t be rude.” I say and go to Sherlock.

“Come on.” Greg says. Greg and John leave. Donovan stays behind as Sherlock turns around and offers me his arm. I take it and we start walking toward the door.

“Brilliant work you did, finding those kids from just a footprint. It’s really amazing.” Donovan says. I glare at her.

“Thank you.” Sherlock says.

“Unbelievable.” She says pointedly. Sherlock hesitates momentarily and then leads me out. We go outside where John was waiting. John hails a taxi and John looks at Sherlock.

“You okay?” John asks.

“Thinking.” Sherlock says. The taxi pulls at the curb. “This is Calliah’s and my taxi. You get the next one.”

“Why?” John asks.

“You might talk. Calliah knows to keep quite.” Sherlock explains and he helps me and gets in.

Sherlock sits in the back of the taxi, lost in thought. Partway into the journey, the TV screen on the back of the seats turn on and an advertisement starts to play. London Taxi Shopping is advertising jewelry. “This is a stunning evening wear set from us here at London Taxi Shopping.

“Can you turn this off, please?” Sherlock asks the driver.

The driver doesn’t respond and the advert continues.  “As you can see, the set comprises of a beautiful…”

“Can you turn this off…” Sherlock says louder and angrily.

The image on the screens begin to fritz as if another channel is breaking through. There are momentary glimpses of Jim Moriarty grinning at the screen. Eventually the advert disappears and Jim is seen smiling cheerfully. Behind him is a pale blue wall with painted white fluffy clouds floating across it. Jim’s voice takes on a sing-song quality as if he is talking to children. “Hullo. Are you ready for the story? This is the story of Sir Boast-a-lot.” I look at Sherlock and see that he was staring at the screen intensely. “Sir Boast-a-lot was the bravest and cleverest knight at the Round Table, but soon the other knights began to grow tired of his stories about how brave he was and how many dragons he’d slain ...” Behind him, the pale blue sky gets darker and the white clouds become grey and threatening. “And soon they began to wonder ...” Behind him, rain begins to pour from the clouds. “ _... ‘_ Are Sir Boast-a-lot’s stories even true?’” Jim shakes his head. “Oh, no. So one of the knights went to King Arthur and said ... (in a dramatic whisper) ... ‘I don’t believe Sir Boast-a-lot’s stories. He’s just a big old liar who makes things up to make himself look good.’ And then even the King began to wonder ...” He frowns, raising a finger to his mouth and gazing off to the side with a thoughtful look on his face. Jim frowns thoughtfully as cartoon lightning bolts shoot out of the clouds behind him. Jim shakes his head repeatedly. “But that wasn’t the end of Sir Boast-a-lot’s problem. No.” He looks down for a moment, and then raises his eyes to the camera again. “That wasn’t the final problem.” Sherlock bares his teeth at the screen as the camera pulls back to show Jim sitting with a storybook held in his hands. He looks up at the camera and finishes in an even more sing-song voice. “The End.” Behind him, a red velvet curtain drops down as if covering a theatre stage. The shot changes to an extreme close-up of Jim grinning hugely and showing his teeth, then the screen fritzes a few times and eventually returns to the jewelry advert. I grab Sherlock’s hand to try and comfort him.

“Stop the cab! Stop the cab!” Sherlock yells. The taxi begins to pull up near the curb. “What was that?” He jumps out of the right-hand door, pulling me along, and runs forward to the driver’s door. “What was that?”

The cabbie turns his head towards Sherlock and reveals that he is Jim Moriarty, who adopts a London accent as he speaks. “No charge.”

He immediately accelerates away as Sherlock tries to grab hold of the door and pull the cab back. I go back to the sidewalk. Forced to let go, he chases after the taxi but it soon speeds away. He stops in the middle of the road, glaring after it and unaware that another car is speeding along behind him.

“Sherlock!” I call out.

As it sounds its horn in warning, a man hurries off the pavement, grabs him and pulls him out of danger. “Look out!” Not yet fully realizing what the man is doing, Sherlock strikes out at him but then stops as the car roars past and he realizes what has happened. He stands with the man at arm’s length, breathing heavily while the man looks warily at him.

“Thank you.” Sherlock says as he catches his breathe. I run over. He holds out his hand for the man to shake. The man somewhat reluctantly takes it and the three bullets are fired into him in quick succession from somewhere behind Sherlock. The man slumps to the ground and Sherlock spins around, trying to find the source of the gunfire. Just then another black cab comes around the corner and pulls up a short distance away. John jumps out and hurries towards him.

“Sherlock!” John calls out.

Some time later Sherlock stands twitching his fingers fretfully while an ambulance crew wheels the body away. “That ... it’s him. It’s him. Sulejmani or something. Mycroft showed me his file. He’s a big Albanian gangster lives two doors down from us.” I frown and cross my arms.

“He died because I shook his hand.” Sherlock says.

“What d’you mean?” John asks.

“He saved my life but he couldn’t touch me. Why?” Sherlock asks. He storms off. John and I follow.

Sherlock walks rapidly into the living room, pulling his scarf and then his coat off as he goes across to the laptop on the table. “Four assassins living right on our doorstep. They didn’t come here to kill me; they have to keep me alive.” He sits down at the table while John goes over to the window near him and looks out. I sit on the couch. “I’ve got something that all of them want, but if one of them approaches me ...”

“... the others kill them before they can get it.” I say. Sherlock grunts in agreement and types rapidly on the laptop

“All of the attention is focussed on me. There’s a surveillance web closing in on us right now.” Sherlock says.

“So what have you got that’s so important?” John asks.

Sherlock gazes into the distance and thinks for a moment, then runs his finger along the table beside the computer before lifting it and looking at his fingertip. “We need to ask about the dusting.”

Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Hudson has been dragged upstairs in her nightdress and dressing gown. Sherlock is hurrying around the room checking for dust on all the furniture. “Precise details: in the last week, what’s been cleaned?”

“Well, Tuesday I did your lino ...” Mrs. Hudson starts to say.

“No, in here, this room. This is where we’ll find it – any break in the dust line. You can put back anything but dust.” Sherlock says. He lifts his hand from the latest piece of furniture that he has been running his finger along, and twirls his finger dramatically in the air. “Dust is eloquent.”

Mrs. Hudson looks over her shoulder at John and me. “What’s he on about?”

John shakes his head and I shrug. By now Sherlock is climbing on the furniture to look more closely at the top shelves of the bookcase to the left of the fireplace. “Cameras. We’re being watched.” Sherlock says.

“What? Cameras?” Mrs. Hudson asks. She cringes. “Here? I’m in my nightie!”

The doorbell has just rung and she hurries out of the room, John following her. Sherlock has climbed down and now checks in the eye sockets of the skull on the mantelpiece before climbing onto small tables on the other side of the fireplace to look at the bookshelves there. Checking the books on the top shelf, he seems to realize that the one on the far right has more movement around it than it ought and he pushes it deeper into the shelf, revealing a camera stuck on the side of the bookshelf. As he reaches up to remove it, Greg comes into the room followed by John. “No, Inspector.” Sherlock says without turning around, still concentrating on removing the camera

“What?” Greg asks.

Sherlock steps down with the camera in his fingers. “The answer’s no.”

“But you haven’t heard the question!” Greg says.

“You want to take me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking.” Sherlock says. He walks closer. Greg pulls in a breath.

“Sherlock ...” Greg says softly.

“The scream?” Sherlock interrupts.

“Yeah.” Greg says.

“Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Ah, Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head; that little nagging sensation. You’re going to have to be strong to resist. You can’t kill an idea, can you? Not once it’s made a home ...” Sherlock says and reaches forward and briefly places his index fingertip on Greg’s forehead between his eyes. “... there.”

“Will you come?” Greg asks.

 Sherlock turns away, sitting down at the laptop and beginning to type. “One photograph – that’s his next move. Moriarty’s game: first the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me inch by inch.” Picking up the camera again, he looks at it for a moment, then raises his eyes to Greg’s. “It is a game, Lestrade, and not one I’m willing to play.” Sherlock looks away again. “Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan.” Sighing and exchanging a brief look with John, Greg turns and heads off down the stairs. John and I watch him go then turns back towards Sherlock who has now linked the camera into the computer so that he can pull up the footage on the computer screen. John has gone over to the right-hand window and looks out at the car parked outside as Greg and Sally go over to it and get in, Greg glancing up towards the window momentarily. As the car starts, Sherlock briefly looks at John. “They’ll be deciding.”

“Deciding?” John asks.

“Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me.” Sherlock explains.

“You think?” I ask.

“Standard procedure.” Sherlock explains.

“Should have gone with him. People’ll think ...” John says.

“I don’t care what people think.” Sherlock says.

“You’d care if they thought you were stupid, or wrong.” John says.

“No, that would just make them stupid or wrong.” Sherlock says.

Angrily, John turns towards him. “Sherlock, I don’t want the world believing you’re ...” He breaks off as Sherlock lifts his head to look at him. They lock eyes for a long moment.

“That I am what?” Sherlock asks.

“A fraud.” I say softly.

Sherlock rolls his eyes and sits back in the seat. “You two are worried they’re right.”

“What?” John asks.

“You two are worried they’re right about me.” Sherlock says.

“No.” John and I say at the same time.

“That’s why you’re so upset and Calliah is so quite. You two can’t even entertain the possibility that they might be right. You two are afraid that you’ve been taken in as well.” Sherlock says.

John turns away and looks out of the window again. “No I’m not.”

“Never.” I say.

Sherlock leans forward. “Moriarty is playing with your mind too.” Furious, he slams his hand onto the table. “Can’t you see what’s going on?”

John looks at him for a few seconds, and then looks out of the window again. “No, I know you’re for real.”

“A hundred percent?” Sherlock asks.

“A thousand percent.” I say right away. Sherlock looks at me and I stare back.

John looks at Sherlock. “Well, nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time.” He says quietly. Sherlock locks eyes with him again, and then his mouth twitches with the trace of a smile. John looks away once more. Sherlock looks at me and I grin. 


	28. Chapter 28

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the first part of the fall.**

**I own nothing, except Calliah**

Shortly afterwards, John lowers his own phone from his ear and switches it off. He turns to Sherlock who is now sitting in his armchair. “So, still got some friends on the Force. It’s Lestrade. Says they’re all coming over here right now, queuing up to slap on the handcuffs: every single officer you ever made feel like a tit, which is a lot of people.” Sherlock appears to be taking no notice of him, and now Mrs. Hudson knocks on the closed living room door with her customary “Ooh-ooh!” and then comes in. She apparently feels the tension in the room.

“Oh, sorry, am I interrupting?” Mrs. Hudson asks. Sherlock rolls his eyes and looks away. She turns her attention to John. “Some chap delivered a parcel. I forgot. Marked ‘Perishable’ – I had to sign for it.” John takes the Jiffy bag from her and immediately realizes that there’s a wax seal over the flap. Sherlock looks across and also sees the seal. “Funny name. German, like the fairytales.” Sherlock rises to his feet and walks forward, his gaze intense and locked on the Jiffy bag as John opens it and pulls out the contents. I get off the couch and walk over. Outside, the sirens of several different vehicles are approaching. In John’s hand is a large gingerbread man but it’s an unusual color. He tilts it so that Sherlock can see it better.

“Burnt to a crisp.” Sherlock says. The vehicles pull up outside and the sirens stop, and doors start to slam as people get out of the cars.

“What does it mean?” I ask, referring to the gingerbread man. The doorbell rings and at the same time someone pounds on the front door knocker.

“Police!” A voice calls.

“I’ll go.” Mrs. Hudson says. She turns and hurries down the stairs as someone continues to knock on the door. Voices can be heard as she opens the door.

“Sherlock ...” I hear Donovan. I groan. Why did she have to come.

“Evening, Mrs Hudson.” Greg says.

“We need to talk to you!” Donovan says.

John puts the gingerbread man back into the envelope and puts it on the table before heading out of the flat. Downstairs, Mrs. Hudson sounds angry. “Don’t barge in like that!” I smirk at that. Feet can be heard trotting up the stairs. Calmly Sherlock turns around and picks up his scarf and loops it around his neck. John goes and blocking the stairs halfway up. I look at Sherlock.

“You okay?” I ask.

“I will be.” He says and grins.

“Have you got a warrant? Have you?” John asks.

“Leave it, John.” Greg says.

“Really! Manners!” Mrs. Hudson says.

Sherlock puts his coat on. Greg gets up with two other armed officers. He stands in front of Sherlock while one of two armed officers attaches handcuffs to his left wrist. I move back by John and take his hand. “Sherlock Holmes, I’m arresting you on suspicion of abduction and kidnapping.” Greg tells Sherlock.

John gestures towards Sherlock while looking at Greg as the officer pulls Sherlock’s left hand behind his back in order to cuff his other wrist. “He’s not resisting.”

“It’s all right, John.” Sherlock says calmly.

“He’s not resisting. No, it’s not all right. This is ridiculous.” John says. I place a hand on John’s arm to try and calm him.

“Get him downstairs now.” Greg says to the other officers.

The officer spins Sherlock around and marches him out of the door. Mrs. Hudson stands nearby almost in tears. “You know you don’t have to do ...” John says to Greg.

Greg gets in John’s face and pointing at him sternly. “Don’t try to interfere, or I shall arrest you too.”

“Greg, back up.” I say.

“You two Calliah.” Greg says and turns and leaves the room. John turns to Sally who is standing near the door.

“You done?” John asks.

Donovan looks smug and as she walks into the room. “Oh, I said it.”

“Mmm-hmm?” John asks.

“First time we met.” Donovan says.

“Watch it Donovan.” I say, trying to control my anger.

“Don’t bother.” John says.

“’Solving crimes won’t be enough. One day he’ll cross the line.” Now, ask yourself: what sort of man would kidnap those kids just so he can impress us all by finding them?” Donovan says and I rush over and punch her in the face.

A minute or two later Donovan walks out onto the street holding a handkerchief to her bleeding nose.

Nearby, Sherlock has been leaned against the side of a police car, facing it. I get slammed up against the car next to him. Sherlock looks across to me with an amused expression on his face.

“Hello.” I say and giggle.

“Joining me?” Sherlock asks.

“Yup. I punched Donovan. She needed to be put in place.” I say and laugh. John then gets slammed up against the car. “Oh goody, our whole team is going.”

“What did you do?” Sherlock asks.

“Apparently it’s against the law to chin the Chief Superintendant.” John says and shrugs.

Behind them, a couple of armed officers unlock the cuff on Sherlock’s right hand and transfer it to John’s right wrist and put a pair of cuffs back on Sherlock’s right hand and puts the other cuff on my left wrist, chaining us together. Sherlock looks over his shoulder, watching what the officers are doing and where they’re standing.

“Hmm. Bit awkward, this.” Sherlock says to us.

“Huh. No-one to bail us.” John says.

“No Mycroft will.” I say.

“I was thinking more about our imminent and daring escape.” He looks down at the radio lying on the dashboard of the car they’re leaning against.

The radio squeals as the dispatcher speaks. “All units to two-seven.”

John and I look round at Sherlock’s previous statement. “What?”

“All units to two ...” The radio dispatcher says.

Rapidly Sherlock reaches through the open window of the car with the hand that is cuffed to mine and presses down on the Talk button. Instantly the officer behind the boys doubles over in pain and grabs at his earpiece when a high-pitched squeal of feedback rips through it. Sherlock reaches behind him and pulls the officer’s pistol free, instantly raising it. Because it’s in his left hand, John’s shackled right hand is yanked upwards as well and he gasps in surprise at the rapid turn of events. Sherlock calls out as he aims the pistol towards the nearest officers. “Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?”  When nobody reacts very quickly, Sherlock raises the gun skywards and fires it twice. “NOW would be good!” He lowers it and points it at the police again.

“Do as he says!” Greg says. He gestures everybody downwards and all the police start to kneel. We start to back away.

“Just-just so you’re aware, the gun is his idea. I’m just a ... you know ...” John yells.

Sherlock aims it at John’s head. “... my hostage. Calliah is too!”  He yells. John gasps.

“Hostage! Yes, that works – that works.” John says softly. We continue backing away from the kneeling police. We begin to back carefully around the corner. “So what now?”

“Doing what Moriarty wants – I’m becoming a fugitive. Run.” Sherlock says. He turns and begins to race off down the road, dragging John and me with him. Around the corner as we run along side by side, Sherlock loops the loose chain between their handcuffs around his hand. He does the same with our cuffs. “Take my hand. Both of you.”

 I grabbing his hand as we race onwards. “Now people will definitely talk.” John says and I laugh. Sirens are approaching at the junction ahead of them. Sherlock swerves to his left and drops the pistol in the process. It clatters to the ground. “The gun!” John yells.

“Leave it!” Sherlock yells back. He shoves John and me down a side alley as the police car races straight across the junction. We run down the alleyway and reach high railings blocking their way. Sherlock, with his customary flair, leaps up onto the top of a dustbin and vaults straight over the top of the railings. John and I, being short and also not as close to the dustbin, is left behind; his right hand and my left hand are dragged upwards and our faces almost smashes against the railings as Sherlock drops to the other side.

“Sherlock, wait!” John yells. He reaches through the railings with his free hand and grabs Sherlock’s coat, dragging him closer and glaring into his face. “We’re going to need to coordinate.”

Sherlock quickly scans all around them. “Go to your right. Both of you.”

“Huh?” John and I ask,

“Go to your right.” Sherlock tells us. He looks upwards and goes up onto his tiptoes to get the chain of both sets of cuffs over the top of one of the spikes at the top of the railings.

Not long afterwards, we’re on the same side of the railings and running down the alley again. Reaching a T-junction Sherlock turns to the right, then immediately brakes and ducks back again as a sirening police car races past the end of the alley. We lean side by side against the wall catching their breath for a moment.

“Everybody wants to believe it – that’s what makes it so clever.” He looks at John and then me. “A lie that’s preferable to the truth.” Looking away again, his voice becomes bitter. “All my brilliant deductions were just a sham. No-one feels inadequate – Sherlock Holmes is just an ordinary man.” I move my hand in the cuffs and hold his hand.

“What about Mycroft? He could help us.” John suggests.

He grunts as Sherlock drag us across to the other side of the alley and peer down the left arm of the T-junction. ”A big family reconciliation? Now’s not really the moment.” Sherlock says. I chuckle. Mycroft was going to be so mad. He spins around, dragging John and me in a circle behind him and looking back the way they came. John spots something at the end of the right arm of the T-junction.

“Sher... Sherlock.” John says. He elbows him with his cuffed arm to turn him in that direction. A face is peering around the corner at the end of the alley.

“We’re being followed. I knew we couldn’t outrun the police.” John says.

“That’s not the police. It’s one of my new neighbors from Baker Street. Let’s see if he can give us some answers.” Sherlock says. He breaks in the opposite direction from where the man is watching them. Running to the next corner, we flatten ourselves against the wall as they reach it and Sherlock looks around the corner. Sherlock presses himself back against the wall again.

“Where are we going?” John asks.

“We’re going to jump in front of that bus.” Sherlock says.

“What?!” John and I yell. But Sherlock’s already on the move and drags John and me out into the street. The assassin races after them. Halfway across the road, Sherlock screeches to a halt directly in front of the approaching bus. John’s impetus carries him past Sherlock before he’s able to stop and turn and now we are all facing the bus and not moving. The assassin charges into the road, throws himself at them and shoves them out of the way and all four of us tumble to the ground as the bus drives past, its horn blaring. Before the assassin can recover, Sherlock sits up and drags the man’s own gun from his jeans, then cocks and points it at him and of course it is the hand that is cuffed to mine.

“Tell me what you want from me.” Sherlock says to the man. The man stares at him wide-eyed but doesn’t speak. Sherlock moves the gun’s muzzle closer to him. “Tell me.”

“He left it at your flat.” The man says.

“Who?” Sherlock asks.

“Moriarty.” The man says.

“What?” Sherlock asks.

All four of us start to get to their feet, Sherlock still holding the gun on the other man. “The computer keycode.” The man tells us.

“Of course. He’s selling it – the programme he used to break into the Tower. He planted it when he came around.” Sherlock says. Three gunshots ring out and the assassin reels and drops to the ground. Sherlock stares up in the direction the bullets came from, then swings around and we race off. As police sirens approach again, we duck into an open doorway and yet another police car drives past the end of the road. We take a moment to catch their breath again. “It’s a game-changer. It’s a key – it can break into any system and it’s sitting in our flat right now. That’s why he left that message telling everyone where to come. “Get Sherlock.” We need to get back into the flat and search.”

“CID’ll be camped out. Why plant it on you?” I say.

“It’s another subtle way of smearing my name. Now I’m best pals with all those criminals.” Sherlock explains.

John has spotted a pile of newspapers nearby and he picks up the top copy. “Yeah, well, have you seen this?” He asks us. It’s a copy of “The Sun” – the same edition that Mycroft had at the Diogenes Club that morning, telling of the upcoming exposé by Kitty Riley. John shows it to Sherlock. “A kiss and tell. Some bloke called Rich Brook.” Sherlock slowly turns his head – clearly the name means something to him. John is still looking at the paper. “Who is he?”

We go to Kitty Riley’s house. The lights come on and we see Kitty come in. We were sitting on her couch, each of us drumming the fingers of their handcuffed hand on their respective knees. “Too late to go on the record?” Sherlock asks.

Not long afterwards, Kitty is sitting in an armchair while the boys stand in the middle of the room. Sherlock is using a hairpin to pick the lock on his handcuff. “Congratulations. The truth about Sherlock Holmes.” Sherlock says to Kitty. He frees his hand, moves onto his other hand. He frees that one and gives the hairpin to John before starting to pace back and forth in front of Kitty. “The scoop that everybody wanted and you got it. Bravo.”

“I gave you your opportunity. I wanted to be on your side, remember? You turned me down, so ...” Kitty says.

“And then, behold, someone turns up and spills all the beans. How utterly convenient. Who is Brook?” Sherlock asks. Kitty shakes her head, refusing to tell him any more. “Oh, come on, Kitty. No-one trusts the voice at the end of a telephone.” John finally frees his own hand from the cuffs and moves to mine. “There are all those furtive little meetings in cafés; those sessions in the hotel room where he gabbled into your dictaphone. How do you know that you can trust him? A man turns up with the Holy Grail in his pockets.” Sherlock says. “What were his credentials?” Sherlock asks sternly. Outside in the hallway there have been the sounds of someone coming in through the main front door. John gets my hand free. Now Kitty looks towards the door of the flat and rises to her feet with a concerned look on her face when someone pushes her door open. Sherlock turns to follow her gaze as Jim Moriarty, unshaven and with his hair messy and wearing casual clothes including a cardigan, walks in with a shopping bag.

“Darling, they didn’t have any ground coffee so I just got normal ...” Jim starts to say. He raises his eyes and stares in terror at the sight of Sherlock, whose own eyes widen. Jim drops the shopping bag and backs away until he bumps into the wall behind him, holding his hands up protectively in front of him. “You said that they wouldn’t find me here. You said that I’d be safe here.” Jim says, his voice trembling.

“You are safe, Richard. I’m a witness. He wouldn’t harm you in front of witnesses.” Kitty says.

“I would.” I practly growl. Sherlock puts a hand on my arm. John, his face full of shock, points at Jim.

“So that’s your source? Moriarty is Richard Brook?!” John asks Kitty. His teeth are bared and he glares at Jim, breathing heavily in pure fury.

“Of course he’s Richard Brook. There is no Moriarty. There never has been.” Kitty tells us.

“What are you talking about?” John asks.

“Look him up. Rich Brook – an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty.” Kitty explains.

Sherlock stares at Jim, who is still holding his hands up and looking at everyone nervously. Jim’s voice is shaking as he turns to John. “Doctor Watson, Miss Adler, I know you’re a good man.” He backs into the corner of the room, appearing terrified under John’s ferocious glare. “Don’t ... don’t h... Don’t hurt me.”

John screams at him, pointing towards him furiously. “No, you are Moriarty!” He turns his head briefly and yells at Kitty. “He’s Moriarty!” He turns back to Jim. “We’ve met, remember? You were gonna blow me up! You were gonna blow up Calliah!”

Jim puts his hands briefly over his face, and then holds them up in front of himself again, sounding as if he is almost crying in fear. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He gestures towards Sherlock. “He paid me. I needed the work. I’m an actor. I was out of work. I’m sorry, okay?”

Breathing heavily, John turns to Sherlock. “Sherlock, you’d better ... explain ... because I am not getting this.”

“Oh I’ll ... I’ll be doing the explaining – in print.” She hands John a folder. “It’s all here – conclusive proof.” I walk over and look at it. John looks at an early typed sheet of her upcoming article, and then turns to the proof copy showing the layout of how it will appear in the newspaper, with spaces left for photographs. The headline reads, “Sherlock’s a fake!” with the strapline, “He invented all the crimes”. “You invented James Moriarty, your nemesis.” Kitty says to Sherlock.

“Invented him?” John asks upset.

“Mmm-hmm. Invented all the crimes, actually – and to cap it all, you made up a master villain.” Kitty says.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” I say.

Kitty turns and points towards Jim. “Ask him. He’s right here! Just ask him. Tell him, Richard.”

“Look, for God’s sake, this man was on trial!” John says furious.

“Yes ...” Kitty says and she points at Sherlock. “... and you paid him; paid him to take the rap. Promised you’d rig the jury.” Sherlock stares at her silently. “Not exactly a West End role, but I’ll bet the money was good.” She walks over to Jim and puts her arm around his shoulders while he stands with his hands still held out in front of himself. “But not so good he didn’t want to sell his story.”

Jim looks plaintively at John and me, putting his hands together pleadingly. “I am sorry. I am. I am sorry.”

“So-so this is the story that you’re gonna publish. The big conclusion of it all: Moriarty’s an actor?!” John asks Kitty. He shakes his head in disbelief.

“He knows I am. I have proof. I have proof. Show him, Kitty! Show them something!” Jim says.

“Yeah, show us something.” John says. Kitty walks across the room. John and I turn to watch her as she reaches into a bag for more information. Kitty takes out a folder, walks over to us and gives it to John.

“I’m on TV. I’m on kids’ TV. I’m The Storyteller.” Jim tells us. John and I look at copies of Richard Brook’s contact details apparently taken from an agency website, then a newspaper article showing a picture of Richard in glasses wearing medical scrubs and with a stethoscope around his neck. The article is headlined, “Award Winning Actor Joins The Cast of Top Medical Drama”. “I’m ... I’m The Storyteller. It’s on DVD.” He looks across to Sherlock again. John and I continue looking through the folder at other publicity stills of Rich together with his CV. Jim gestures towards us, looking at Sherlock pleadingly. “Just tell him. It’s all coming out now. It’s all over.” His voice becomes more frantic. “Just tell them. Just tell them. Tell him!” Baring his teeth, Sherlock starts to walk towards him. “It’s all over now ... NO!” He backs away from Sherlock and up a short flight of stairs towards the bedroom on the upper level of the flat. His eyes are wide and terrified. “Don’t you touch me! Don’t you lay a finger on me!”

“Stop it. Stop it NOW!” Sherlock says furiously.

Jim turns and bolts up the stairs. “Don’t hurt me!”

Sherlock, John, and I chase after him. “Don’t let him get away!” John yells.

“Leave him alone!” Kitty yells up.

Jim runs into the bathroom on the other side of the bedroom. Sherlock runs to the door and struggles momentarily to open it, then shoves it. There’s a crash outside as if Jim has landed on top of a dustbin. Sherlock looks out of the window, then turns to stop John. “No, no, no. He’ll have back-up.” He heads towards the stairs. Kitty backs down to get out of his way but doesn’t move quickly, slowing him down.

“D’you know what, Sherlock Holmes? I look at you now and I can read you.” Kitty says. He stops at the bottom of the stairs as she gets into his face. “And you ... repel ... me.”

Sherlock turns and heads out of the door. John, still holding the folder of the articles about Rich, shoves Kitty aside and we follows him. She closes the door behind them. We go out onto the street and John and I stop while Sherlock begins to pace rapidly back and forth in the middle of the road. “Can he do that? Completely change his identity; make you the criminal?”

“He’s got my whole life story. That’s what you do when you sell a big lie; you wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable.” Sherlock says.

“Your word against his.” I say softly.

“He’s been sowing doubt into people’s minds for the last twenty-four hours. There’s only one thing he needs to do to complete his game, and that’s to ...” Sherlock starts. He stops dead. John, who has still been rifling through the folder, looks up at his friend, who is turned away from him.

“Sherlock?” I ask.

“Something I need to do.” Sherlock says.

“What? Can we help?” John asks.

“No – on my own.” Sherlock says. He briskly walks away. John and I watch him, sighing. John looks down at the papers again. He looks up and down the road and then apparently decides where we needs to go and He takes my hand and we head off in the opposite direction.

We go to the Diogenes Club and go into the small private room. I sit on the desk as we wait for Mycroft. Mycroft comes in but stops when he realizes that John is sitting in one of the armchairs with his back to him. I smiles softly at him. John had figured out what Mycroft did. John is still looking through Kitty’s file. “She has really done her homework, Miss Riley – things that only someone close to Sherlock could know.”

Mycroft closes the door. “Ah.”

“Have you seen your brother’s address book lately? Three names: yours, Calliah’s and mine, and Moriarty didn’t get this stuff from me or Calliah.” John says.

Mycroft walks across the room to face him. “John ...”

“So how does it work, then, your relationship? D’you go out for a coffee now and then, eh, you and Jim?” John asks. Mycroft sits down in the chair opposite and opens his mouth but John interrupts again. His voice is full of controlled anger. “Your own brother, and you blabbed about his entire life to this maniac.”

“I never inten... I never dreamt ...” Mycroft starts. I get off the desk and walk over and place a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder.

“So this ...th-th-this ...” John interrupts. He looks through the papers again. “... is what you were trying to tell me, isn’t it: “Watch his back, ’cause I’ve made a mistake.’”He slaps the papers down on the table beside his chair and sits back, clearing his throat as he tries to stay calm. “How did you meet him?”

Mycroft draws in a long breath. “People like him: we know about them; we watch them. But James Moriarty ... the most dangerous criminal mind the world has ever seen, and in his pocket the ultimate weapon: a keycode. A few lines of computer code that could unlock any door.”

“And you abducted him to try and find the keycode?” John asks.

“Interrogated him for weeks.” Mycroft says.

“And?” John asks.

“He wouldn’t play along.” Mycroft explains. “He just sat there, staring into the darkness. The only thing that make him open up…” He ruefully gestures to himself. “ could get him to talk ... just a little, but ...” He trails off.

John grimly finishes the sentence for him. “.. in return you had to offer him Sherlock’s life story. So one big lie – Sherlock’s a fraud – but people will swallow it because the rest of it’s true.” He leans forward in his chair. “Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, right? And you have given him the perfect ammunition.” He smiles bitterly at him. Mycroft lowers his eyes. John pulls in a sharp breath and then gets to his feet, turning towards the door.

“John ...” Mycroft says. John turns back. Mycroft looks up at him. “I’m sorry.” He says softly.

“Oh, please ...” John says. He looks at me. “Why are you not shocked?” He asks. I look down and play with my ring. “You knew!?”

I look up and bite my lip. “Mycroft told me after the Baskerville case…”

John scoffs. “And you didn’t tell us?!” John yells.

“I couldn’t!” I yell.

He shakes his head in disbelief and turns away, laughing humorlessly as he walks to the door. “Match made in heaven!”

“Tell him, would you?” Mycroft asks. John opens the door and walks away, leaving the door open behind him.


	29. Chapter 29

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the first part of the fall.**

**I own nothing, except Calliah**

Mycroft takes me home and had to leave again. I felt sick. John hated me. I lay on the couch and close my eyes.

I get woken up by my phone ringing. I look and see that it’s John.

“John. What’s wrong?” I ask as soon as I answer.

“Mrs. Hudson has been shot. Can you get to the house?” John asks.

“On my way.” I hang up and get a taxi to the flat.

John’s taxi pulls up the same mine does. John and I jump out of our taxis and hurry towards the door, and John scrabbling for his keys. Hurrying inside, we sees the tattooed bald workman standing at the top of his stepladder just in front of the stairs, drilling a hole into the wall. Mrs. Hudson is standing nearby watching him. As John runs towards her, she jolts in startlement, having not heard his approach over the sound of the drill. “Oh, God, John! You made me jump!” Mrs. Hudson says. I stand at the door and frown.

John stares at her in confusion. “But ...”

“Is everything okay now with the police? Has, um, Sherlock sorted it all out?” Mrs. Hudson asks.

John stares for a moment longer and then it suddenly sinks in. “Oh my God.” He says softly, his voice full of horror. He turns around and runs outside, pulling me along, looking up and down the street frantically. Luckily he immediately sees what he needs. “Taxi!” A cab begins to pull over on the other side of the road. John chases across the road towards it, still pulling me. “Taxi!”  A man is standing at the side of the road having also just hailed the cab. As he leans into the front window to tell the driver his destination, John runs around the cab and pulls open the rear door, talking even as he scrambles inside and pulls me in. “No, no, no, no, police! ... Sort of.”

The man walks away angrily. “Oh, thanks, mate – thanks a lot.”

John’s phone begins to ring below him as we get out of the taxi and he raises the phone to his ear as he trots towards the hospital. “Hello?” He answers. “Hey, Sherlock, you okay?” I look over. Where was Sherlock? “No, we’re coming in.”  John turns back and looking around bewildered. I stop and look at him. “Where?”  John stops. “Sherlock?” John turns and looks up, his face filling with horror. I look up and see Sherlock standing at the edge. I gasp and cover my mouth. What was he doing? “Oh God.”  John says softly. “What’s going on?...Wh-what?...” John stares up at Sherlock in disbelief. “Why are you saying this?...Sherlock …Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met ... the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?...You could…” John has his eyes closed and is shaking his head repeatedly. “No. All right, stop it now.” He starts to walk towards the hospital entrance. John stops and backs up, holding his hand up towards Sherlock in capitulation. “All right.” He passes the phone to me. “He wants to talk to you.”

I grab the phone. “Sherlock. Get down. Come down here.” I say softly.

“I can’t.” Sherlock says. I tear up and look down.

“I need you though… I need you..” I say softly.

“I know. I’m sorry my flower.” He says.

“What will I do without you?” I ask.

“Live. Care for John and Mycroft for me please. Move on.” He tells me. “Put the phone on speaker so I can talk to you both.”

I put it on speaker. “Keep your eyes fixed on me.” Sherlock tells us. His voice becomes frantic. “Please, will you do this for me?”

“Do what?” John asks.

“This phone call – it’s, er ... it’s my note. It’s what people do, don’t they – leave a note?” Sherlock says. I start sobbing.

“No. no. no.” I says softly.

John shakes his head, momentarily taking his phone from his ear as the stress of what he’s beginning to understand hits him, then he raises it again, his voice shaky. “Leave a note when?”

“Goodbye, John and Calliah.”

John shakes his head. “No. Don’t.”

I look up and see Sherlock gazes down at his friend for several seconds, then he lowers his arm and drops the phone onto the roof, gazing ahead of himself. John lowers his own phone and screams upwards. “No. SHERLOCK!” I start sobbing harder. Sherlock spreads his arms to either side and falls forward, plummeting towards the ground. John and I stare in utter horror.

“Sher...” I say softly.

My hearing whites out as my entire body focuses on getting to Sherlock as soon as I can. Sherlock had disappeared from view towards the end of his fall because a building was in the way of my view of him, and John and I run to the corner of the building, then slows down and stops in the middle of the road when we get our first glimpse of the still figure lying on the wet pavement, the lower part of his body obscured by a lorry parked at the roadside. Someone runs into us and we end up crashing to the ground, my head hitting the asphalt hard. Groaning, I struggles to stay conscious while, nearby, people begin to run towards the body on the pavement. The lorry pulls away and a couple of medics from the hospital hurry out and start trying to prevent the onlookers from getting too close. Grimacing with pain, I roll onto my side and looks across to the pavement where Sherlock is lying on his side with a lot of blood under his head. I start sobbing more. Slowly John hauls himself to his feet, helps my up, and we stumble towards him as more onlookers gather, talking excitedly about what they saw. John forces me onwards. “Sherlock, Sherlock ...” John says in a whisper. We reach the crowd. “I’m a doctor, let me come through. Let me come through, please.” Some of the crowd try to hold us back but we push through them. “No, he’s our friend. He’s our friend. Please.” He reaches down to take hold of Sherlock’s wrist, searching for a pulse. A woman peels his fingers off and she and another person pull him away. As he reaches towards Sherlock again, more medics arrive with a wheeled stretcher. “Please, let me just ...” He says frantically. I back up and sit down. I bring my knees to my chest and start sobbing.

As the onlookers support him, four people lift Sherlock’s body onto the stretcher and then rapidly wheel it away into the hospital. I stare after it, my face blank and uncomprehending. John finally manages to get to his feet and shakes off his helpers, staring blindly in the direction that his friend’s body was taken. John comes over and helps me up. We lean on each other as we go inside.

Mrs. Hudson, John, and I stand beside each other in front of a black marble headstone of Sherlock. The flowers are now resting at the base of the headstone.

“There’s all the stuff, all the science equipment. I left it all in boxes. I don’t know what needs doing. I thought I’d take it to a school.” Mrs. Hudson says. She looks at John and me. “Would you ...?”

“I can’t go back to the flat again – not at the moment.” John says. John had been living in his old flat. I moved in with Mycroft.  Mrs. Hudson takes John’s arm sympathetically. “I’m angry.” He takes a deep breath through his nose, trying not to break down.

Mrs. Hudson gently pats his arm. “It’s okay, John. There’s nothing unusual in that. That’s the way he made everyone feel.” She gazes at the smooth black marble. “All the marks on my table; and the noise – firing guns at half past one in the morning!”

“Yeah.” John says. I chuckle softly.

“Bloody specimens in my fridge. Imagine – keeping bodies where there’s food!” Mrs. Hudson says.

“Yes.” John says. He closes his eyes as she continues, her own voice breaking.

“And the fighting! Drove me up the wall with all his carryings-on!” Mrs. Hudson says.

John turns to her. “Yeah, listen: I-I’m not actually that angry, okay?”

“Okay.” Mrs. Hudson says. She turns away, pulling her arm free of his. “I’ll leave you two alone to, erm ...” Her voice breaks again. “... you know.” Crying, she walks away, fishing out a tissue to blow her nose.

John looks down at the grave, drawing in a deep breath. He takes my hand and I smile softly at him. He looks back over his shoulder to see that Mrs. Hudson is now out of earshot, then turns back to the grave again. “Um ... mmm.” He pulls himself together a little. “You ... you told me once that you weren’t a hero. Umm ... there were times I didn’t even think you were human, but let me tell you this: you were the best man, and the most human ... human being that I’ve ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, and so ... There.” He blows out a breath, whimpering slightly. Looking over his shoulder again, he walks over to the headstone and puts his fingertips onto the top of it. I stay back to give him a little room. “I was so alone, and I owe you and Calliah so much.” He looks back and smiles sadly at me. He looks at the stone and takes a tearful breath. “Okay.” He turns and starts to walk away but only reaches the foot of the grave before he turns back again. I stand there and watch him. “No, please, there’s just one more thing, mate, one more thing: one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. For Calliah. Don’t ... be ...” His voice breaks and fills with tears. “... dead. Would you do ...? Just for me, just stop it.” He gestures down at the grave. “Stop this.”  He sighs and lowers his head and stands there, broken. He lowers his head further, covers his eyes with one hand and weeps. I walk over and hug him. He hugs me back and weeps on me. Finally he wipes his eyes, sniffs deeply and raises his head, coming to attention in front of his best friend. Nodding in salute to him and giving himself permission to dismiss, he turns smartly on one heel and then walks away. “I’ll be in the taxi waiting. Take as long as you need.” He tells me.

“I won’t be long.” I say and wait till he is far away. I sit down and look at the stone. “I have been taking care of him and Mycroft as much as I can. John and I go out to lunch every day. I live with Mycroft now so… yeah…” I sigh and close my eyes. “I don’t know what to say.” I open my eyes and stand up. “Like John said, don’t be dead.” I say and go to taxi.


	30. Chapter 30

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**A lot of the ideas I am using come from the tumblr page for BBC Sherlock headcannons**

**Here is the 2 years.**

**I own nothing, except Calliah and my ideas.**

It had been five months since Sherlock’s death. I had moved in with Mycroft the day after Sherlock jumped. I couldn’t live there and John said the same thing. I told him he could in with Mycroft and me, but he said no. He got his old flat back and we would have lunch every day.

It was hard to move on. I slept more and didn’t eat. I wasn’t cutting so at least there is that. Mycroft and I talked and we learnt new things about each other every day.

Mycroft and I were lying in bed. I was reading and he was doing some work. We would do this every night. Our cat jumps onto the bed. Mycroft had found it in his house five years ago. It was a little cute kitten, and not it is the fattest cat I have ever said. Mycroft calls it Purdy. Mycroft told me that he never was a dog person because one tried to attack him when he was a child. When Sherlock got a dog, Mycroft made sure to stay very far away.

One day I was looking around, trying to get some sort of concept of the house. It was huge. While exploring, I found a closet full of paintings and doodles. I sat in there for hours looking at it all. Mycroft found me and started blushing. “Um….”

I jump up. “Mycroft! I’m sorry. I was looking around and found this closet. Who did all these?” I ask.

“I did…” He says softly.

“Some of these are really good.” I say.

“Really?” He asks, unsure of himself.

“Really.” I say and go over to him. I lean up and kiss him softly. “My man is an artist.”

He rolls his eyes and takes me to the living room.

“Mycroft?” I ask over dinner one night.

He looks up. “Hmm?”

“Why haven’t you ever had a serious relationship before?” I ask.

He looks down and sighs. “Because no one deserves to be saddled with me.” He says softly.

I frown and go over to him. “What? Why would you think that? And no one would be saddled with you. They would be living the best days of their lives, trust me.”

He smiles briefly. “I’m a difficult man Calliah. I get mad if my suits are tailored wrong. I mean, if that makes me mad then imaging what else gets me mad. I don’t get along with people and usually people don’t like me.”

“Well I do.” I say.

He pulls me onto his lap. “That is because you, my dear, are weird.” He says and kisses my cheek.

“And you love it.” I say.

“Of course.” He says and kisses me.

I learnt that Mycroft hates mornings and spiders all in the same day. I also found out that he loves Bohemian Rhapsody.

I woke up at five a.m. one morning and noticed that Mycroft was sitting up in bed and glaring at the wall.

“Croft?” I say softly.

He looks over and smiles very slightly. “Go back to bed love.”

“Okay, but what are you doing?” I say and chuckle. “Did the wall kick you?”

“Ha ha, no. I hate mornings. I want to kill them.” He says. I start laughing. “What?”

“You hate mornings? I would have never thought that.” I say and sit up.

“Well I do. I need coffee.” He says.

“How about I go make coffee while you shower.” I say.

He nods and we go our separate ways. I finish making coffee and bring two mugs into the bedroom. I hear some singing and sneak into the bathroom. Mycroft was singing. He was singing Bohemian Rhapsody. I sneak out. Oh I will tease him for that. After a couple minutes, Mycroft calls for me. “Calliah!”

I run to the bathroom. “What?”

“Spider!” He yells.

I blink. “What?”

“There is a spider in here. Come kill it.” He tells me.

“Why can’t you.” I ask him.

“Because….” He says.

“Because why?” I ask.

“Because I am afraid of them…” He says softly. I giggle and roll my eyes.

“Fine.” Mycroft turns the water off and gets out. He goes to the bedroom and I kill the spider. I laugh and go to the bedroom. “The spider is dead.” I tell him and smile. He kisses me and smile.

“Thank you love.” He says.

“Nice singing by the way.” I say and giggle as I get my mug.

I was home alone. Mycroft was at work. John couldn’t come over because of work so I was fixing myself lunch. I hear a noise in the living room. I knew it wasn’t the cat, because he was in here, begging me for food. I get the rolling pin and slowing go into the living room. I was greeted with the slight of Sherlock Holmes. He looks at me and smiles softly. “Not dead…” He says softly.

I gasp and run over to him. “What the Hell!” I punch his arm and then hugs him. “How?” I says softly.

I hear the front door open and hear. “Hello brother dear.” I look over and see Mycroft. He looks at me. “I think we need to talk.”

“Noooo….” I say sarcastically.

Mycroft, Sherlock, and I moved to the kitchen and I sit down and eat while Sherlock explained. “Did you know?” I ask Mycroft.

“Yes.” He says.

I stop eating. “You knew. You let me grieve for a year… A year!” I yell.

“Ardaigh…” Mycroft says softly.

“Don’t Ardaigh me mister!” I yell. I close my eyes and place my hands on my head. “You are alive. Aren’t dead. And you can’t come back yet.”

“Yes.” Sherlock says.

“Why?” I ask and look at him.

“I have more to do.” He says.

I sigh. “I need some time. When do you leave?”

“In two hours.” Sherlock says.

I nod and get up. “I will be back out in an hour. I just need space.” I start walking to the living room. I stop when I get to Mycroft and turn to him. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. I just can’t look at you right now.”

“I’m sorry.” He says softly and looks at me.

I slap him and go to my old bedroom.

I come out an hour later. I cried. Took a bath. Cried. Thought about everything. Cried. Then took a nap. I go to the living room to see Mycroft and Sherlock sitting there. “Did you two just sit here in silence?” I ask and sit by Sherlock. He puts his arm around me and I snuggled into him.

“No. We talked.” Sherlock tells me. Mycroft wasn’t talking or looking at me. Good. At least he knew I needed time.

“I will be back in an hour brother.” Mycroft says. He looks at me, frowns, and leaves.

“You have to forgive him flower.” Sherlock says.

“Oh I am. I will tell him right after you leave.” I say. I close my eyes and snuggle into him more. “I still can’t believe you aren’t dead. I am so happy.”

He rubs my back. “How is living with Mycroft. I’m guessing hellish?”

I giggle. “No. It is really nice. We have fights like every couple do, of course they are usually government problems, but I can’t complain. I love him. I wouldn’t trade it for my life.” I say.

He smiles at me. “Good. I’m glad he has someone. How is John?”

“Good. Is still sad but moving on slightly. He has a girlfriend.” I tell him.

“Good.” Sherlock says.

We spend the next hour talking about anything and everything. Mycroft comes back in after the hour is up. “Sherlock. The car is waiting.” We get up and I walk him to the door. I hug him and kiss his cheek.

“I will be waiting for you to come home.” I tell him.

“Soon flower.” He says and leaves.

I turn to Mycroft. I walk past him and pat the couch. “Come here Croft.” He smiles softly at the nickname. He sits down and I move to him. I kneel so I was eye level with him. I look at his cheek and touch it softly. He grimaces. “Well that is what you get for not telling me the truth.” I say and kiss it softly.

“I am sorry Ardaigh.” He says softly.

“I know. I know you did it for my protection but it still sucks.” I say and move to his lap.

“I know. I will be always truthful from now on.” He says and then thinks. “Well, about everything but my job.” He says and smiles softly.

I chuckle. “Deal.”

Six months after the Sherlock visit, Mycroft finally brought me home to meet his parents. They are so adorable. Mummy Holmes is the nicest woman I have ever met. Daddy Holmes is funny.

We were having dinner and just talking. They knew I knew about Sherlock. They also knew. “I’m so happy My has a girlfriend.” Mummy Holmes says.

“The name is Mycroft mother. You picked this name out, you should at least call me by it.” Mycroft says.

“Rude.” I tell Mycroft.

“He is always like this dear. My boys are so cynical.” She tells me. I giggle and look at Mycroft. He was frowning. He hasn’t stopped frowning since we pulled into the drive. “Smile Mycroft. It makes you look better.” Mummy Holmes tells him.

He smiles fakely and Mummy Holmes and I roll our eyes. We finish dinner and Mycroft gets up. “Calliah. Can you come with me?”

“I was going to help Mummy Holmes with the dishes.” I tell him.

“Oh, it’s okay dear. Daddy Holmes can help me.” She says.

“Okay.” I say as Mycroft leads me out of the house. We go to the backyard and we sit on the swings. “If Sherlock was here, he would totally make a fat joke.” I say and giggle.

“’Mycroft, you better get off the swing set before you break it. How is the diet?’” Mycroft says, mocking Sherlock.

I laugh and look at him. “Your parents are more amazing in person than on the phone. Thank you for doing this.” I say and lead over and kiss him. He kisses back.

“Well, I did not just ask you out here to swing.” Mycroft says.

“No way.” I say sarcastically.

He rolls his eyes at me. “Calliah. You have made my life livable. From the minute we met, I was amazed by you. Your so strong with everything you dealt with in your life. I couldn’t ask for a better person in my life. You have helped me and have made me a better person. I’m not one for romance, but I do know I love you and always will. If I don’t do this now, I will never do it.” He says, looking into my eyes.

“Do what Croft?” I ask and smile.

He gets up and kneels on one knee. “Calliah Róise Mullen-Adler. Will you do me the honor and become my wife?” He asks. I stare at him and tear up. I leap out of the swing and hug him. He falls backwards and I land on top of him. I kiss him deeply. He kisses back. I pull back and giggle. “I’m guessing that is a yes.” He chuckles.

“Yes!” I yell and he slips the ring on my finger.  

We go back inside and tell Mummy and Daddy Holmes.

We officially ‘danced’ for the first time that night.

It was 2 years after Sherlock faked his death and I was laying on the couch, trying to sleep. The door opens and in walks Sherlock and Mycroft. I jump up and run to Sherlock. “Sherlock!” He hugs me and groans. “Are you okay?”

“Just a little beating.” He says.

I help him over to the couch. “Okay. Shirt off.”

“W-What?” Mycroft and Sherlock asks.

I laugh and look at both of them. “So I can clean the wounds dummys.” I says.

“Oh.” Sherlock says and takes off his shirt. Mycroft sits in one of the chairs and glares at Sherlock.

“Lay on your stomach.” I tell him. I go and get some stuff to help heal his wounds. I turn around and see Mycroft. “Hello love.” I say. He wraps his arms around me and kisses me. I kiss back and he deepens it. I pull back and giggle. “Okay love. I need to go help your brother.” I say.

He pouts. “He will be fine. We can go have a little fun and then you can help him.” He says and smirks.

I laugh and shake my head. “No Croft. Later.” I say and go back to the living room and I kneel beside Sherlock. “This might hurt a little.” I say and start cleaning his wounds. He sucks in a breath but doesn’t move.

“So I heard you are going to be my sister soon.” Sherlock says.

I grin and blush. “Yeah…” I say and push a hair behind my ear.

“I’m happy for you. When will it be?” Sherlock asks.

“Not sure. We haven’t been planning it. Mycroft had to travel for work which I’m guessing is going to get you.” I say.

“Not just him.” Mycroft says behind us. “I had real work too.”

“Sure.” I say and roll eyes. “I’ve had this house to myself for a couple months. Mycroft only popped in a couple times so we haven’t planned anything.” I finish up cleaning the wounds. “Okay you will be good.” I say and stand up. I go over and sit on Mycroft’s lap. He wraps an arm around me. Sherlock sits up and puts his shirt on. “So Sherlock tell me what you have been doing.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the first part of the Empty Hearse**

**I own nothing, except Calliah and my ideas.**

We go to the bathroom so Mycroft’s barber can cut Sherlock’s hair and shave his face. I sit on the counter, Mycroft stands beside me, and Sherlock was in a chair. “You have been busy, haven’t you?” Mycroft asks.

“Of course. Moriarty’s network – took me two years to dismantle it.” Sherlock says.

“And you’re confident you have?” Mycroft asks.

“The Serbian side was the last piece of the puzzle.” Sherlock says.

“Yes. You got yourself in deep there…” Mycroft says and grabs a file. He opens it up. “…with Baron Maupertuis. Quite a scheme.”

“Colossal.” Sherlock says.

Mycroft closes the file. “Anyway, you’re safe now.”

“Hmm.” Sherlock says.

“A small ‘thank you’ wouldn’t go amiss.” Mycroft says.

“What for?” Sherlock asks.

“For wading in.” Mycroft says. Sherlock raises a hand to the barber to make him stop shaving him. The man steps back a little. “In case you’d forgotten, fieldwork is not my natural milieu.” I giggle.

Sherlock sits up and looks at Mycroft angrily. I frown. “’Wadding in?’ You sat there and watched me being beaten to a pulp.” Sherlock says.

I look over at Mycroft and frown. Mycroft was shaking his head. “Really Mycroft?” I ask and cross my arms.

“I got him out…” Mycroft says softly. 

I shake my head and look away.

“No – I got me out. Why didn’t you intervene sooner?” Sherlock asks.

“Well, I couldn’t risk giving myself away, could I? It would have ruined everything.” Mycroft says and tries to place a hand on my leg. I pushed it off.

Sherlock glowers at him. “You were enjoying it.”

“Nonsense.” Mycroft says.

“Definitely enjoying it.” Sherlock says.

Mycroft looks at him. “Listen: do you have any idea what it was like, Sherlock, going ‘under cover’, smuggling my way into their ranks like that? That was the reason I was gone all the time.” He looks at me. I look at him. “I didn’t want to be away but I had to.” He says and frowns. I sigh and nod.

“I didn’t know you spoke Serbian.” Sherlock says.

“I didn’t, but the language has a Slavic root, frequent Turkish and German loan words.” Mycroft explains and shrugs. “Took me a couple of hours.”

“Hmm – you’re slipping.” Sherlock says.

Mycroft smiles tightly. “Middle age, brother mine. Comes to us all.” He frowns and I place my hand on his. He looks at me.

The door opens and ‘Anthea’ comes in and holds up a dark suit and white shirt on a hanger to show Sherlock. Sherlock gets his pants and shirt on. He tucks his shirt into his trousers while he looks at himself in a large mirror on the wall. We stand nearby. I was standing in front of Mycroft and leaning against him. He had his arms around me.

“I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock. Is that quite clear?” Mycroft asks.

“What do you think of this shirt?” Sherlock asks.

“Sherlock!” Mycroft says exasperated.

“I will find you underground terror cell, Mycroft.” Sherlock says and looks briefly at Mycroft. “Just put me back in London. I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in – feel every quiver of its beating heart.”

“One of our men died getting this information. All the chatter, all the traffic, concurs there’s going to be a terror strike on London – a big one.” ‘Anthea’ tells Sherlock.

Sherlock puts on his jacket. “And what about John Watson?” Sherlock asks,

‘Anthea’ throws an exasperated glance towards Mycroft. “John?” Mycroft asks.

“Mmm. Have you seen him?” Sherlock asks.

“I see him almost every day. We go out for lunch.” I say.

“And I have kept a weather eye on him.” Mycroft says and holds out his hand for a file. ‘Anthea’ hands him a file. Mycroft hands it to Sherlock. He looks through it. “You haven’t been in touch at all, to prepare him?” Mycroft asks.

“No.” Sherlock says distracted.

“You haven’t let anything slip, have you?” Mycroft asks me.

“Nope.” I say.

“Well, we’ll have to get rid of that.” Sherlock says. I’m guessing he is talking about the moustache. Yeah. It wasn’t pretty.

“’We’?” Mycroft asks.

“He looks ancient. Calliah and I can’t be seen to be wandering around with an old man.” Sherlock says. He closes the file and drops it onto the desk. He straightens his jacket. “I think I’ll surprise John. He’ll be delighted!”

“You think so?” Mycroft asks, smiling cynically.

“Hmmm. I’ll pop into Baker Street. Who knows – jump out of a cake.” Sherlock says.

“Don’t say cake.” Mycroft complains.

“If we started planning the wedding, we get to try cake…” I say and smirk at Mycroft. He smiles and kisses my head.

Mycroft looks at Sherlock. “He isn’t at Baker Street” Sherlock looks surprised. “Why would he be? It’s been two years. He’s got on with his life.”

“What Mycroft is saying is, he moved out when I did. We couldn’t live where you weren’t. It was too hard and John… um…. Moved on.” I explain.

“What life? I’ve been away.” Sherlock says.

“Our lives don’t focus on yours.” I tell him and roll my eyes.

“Where’s he going to be tonight?” Sherlock asks.

“How would I know?” Mycroft asks.

“You always know and if you don’t Calliah does.” Sherlock says.

“He has a dinner reservation in the Marylebone Road. Nice little spot. They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint-Emilion ... though I prefer the 2001.” Mycroft says.

I open my mouth to tell Sherlock about Mary and Mycroft covers my mouth, and I glare at him.

“I think maybe we’ll just drop by.” Sherlock says. I shake my head.

“You know, it is just possible that you won’t be welcome.” Mycroft says.

“No it isn’t. Now, where is it?” Sherlock asks.

“Where’s what?” Mycroft asks.

“You know what.” Sherlock says. Mycroft looks at me as I look down and hum. “Calliah, where is it?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about?” I says softly.

“Calliah. Give it to me.” Sherlock says.

“I don’t wanna…” I say.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Mycroft says. I sigh and go and get Sherlock’s coat. I bring it back and give it to Sherlock. I lean against the counter and pout.

Sherlock smiles and slides his arms into the sleeves and pulls it up. He pops the collar. “Why did you have my coat?”

“I…I slept with it… when I missed you.” I said embarrassed.

Later that night, Mycroft takes me out to the Landmark Hotel to watch Sherlock. We had a bet. I believe that John would punch him. Mycroft says he will just leave. I was wearing a light grey Coast Reanna Feather Dress, silver shoes, diamond ear drops and my engagement ring. Mycroft got us a table close by but where John won’t see us. Nearby, John is sitting alone at a table, checking the inside pocket of his jacket before taking a drink from a glass of water. I see Sherlock and tap Mycroft. I point out Sherlock and smile. Sherlock looks across the room at him, then hesitates. A waitress picks up some menus from the bar and walks across in front of him.

“’Scuse me, sir.” Sherlock’s attention is drawn to the bowtie she is wearing as part of her uniform. He looks to a nearby table where a couple are sitting. There is a glass of red wine and a glass of water to the man’s left. The man has his back to the door but Sherlock can see him reflected in the water glass. As John picks up the wine list and starts looking at it, Sherlock smiles to himself again and walks over to the side of the other couple’s table where he picks up the glass of water and pours it down the man’s front. The man – wearing a white shirt, black jacket and a bowtie – recoils and cries out in shock. “Sorry! I’m so, so sorry!” The man lifts his napkin from his lap and starts mopping himself with it. Sherlock steps behind him, pulling the napkin higher up the man’s chest. “Please, let me just go to the kitchen and, er, dry that off for you.” With one smooth tug, he pulls off the man’s bowtie and walks away, tying the bowtie around his own neck. Continuing across the restaurant, he sees a man at another table taking off his glasses and putting them down on top of the menu he has just been reading. Sherlock walks to his side. “Finished with that, sir? Allow me to take it for you.” Not paying much attention, the man waves him away. Sherlock picks up the menu and the glasses and walks away, putting on the glasses as he goes. At a nearby table, a woman’s small handbag is open beside her. Sherlock sees that there is an eyeliner on the top. He steps close behind her, offering her the menu he’s holding with his right hand while simultaneously taking the menu she is holding with his left hand. “Madam, can I suggest you look at this menu? It’s, er, completely identical.” She automatically takes the menu from his right hand and he instantly pinches the eyeliner from her bag and steps away, turning his back to the bulk of the restaurant and lifting the eyeliner towards his face. When he turns back, he has drawn a small pencil moustache on his top lip. He goes over to John’s table, standing to his left and one step behind him. He addresses John in a French accent. “Can I ’elp you with anything, sir?”

“Hi, yeah. I’m looking for a bottle of champagne – a good one.” John says, not looking up.

“Mmm! Well, these are all excellent vintages.” Sherlock says, leaning closer.

“Er, it’s not really my area. What do you suggest?” John asks.

“Well, you cannot possibly go wrong, but, erm, if you’d like my personal recommendation ...” Sherlock says, his French accent becoming a little Captain du Creff-esque

“Mm-hmm.” John says.

Sherlock gestures at the list with his eyeliner pencil. “.. this last one on the list is a favourite of mine.” John nods, still not looking up at him. Sherlock straightens up. “It is – you might, in fact, say – like a face from ze past.” He takes off his glasses and waits expectantly. John still doesn’t look round.

“Great. I’ll have that one, please.” John says that. He finishes his glass of red wine. Sherlock looks startled that John hasn’t recognized him yet.

“It is familiar, but, er, with the quality of surprise!” He almost lapses into his own voice on the final word and he gestures grandly. John grimaces at the taste of his wine, then – still without looking round – hands the wine list to the man he thinks is the wine waiter. I giggle into my hand.

“Well, er, surprise me.” John says.

“Certainly endeavouring to, sir.” Sherlock says tetchily, in pretty much his own voice. He walks away. John reaches into his inside jacket pocket and pulls out a small red velvet box. Opening it, he looks at the ring inside, then closes the box and puts it on the table in front of him. Nearby, a woman walks down the stairs. John fidgets with the box, turning it this way and that, perhaps in an attempt to make it look perfectly placed. He blows out a nervous breath as his dinner date, Mary Morstan, rejoins him, patting his shoulder before walking round to her own seat. I grin at him. They are so cute together.

“Sorry that took so long.” Mary says. John snatches the box off the table and shoves it back into his pocket. I chuckle and look at Mycroft, who was looking at me. She sits down and smiles at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Me? Fine. I am fine.” John says. She smiles sweetly. John chuckles and gazes at her with a delighted look on his face.

“Now then, what did you want to ask me?” Mary asks.

John’s smile fades and he looks nervous. “More wine?”

“No, I’m good with water, thanks.” Mary says.

“Right.” John says. He briefly looks away.

“So ...” Mary says.

“Er, so ... Mary. Listen, erm ... I know it hasn’t been long ... I mean, I know we haven’t known each other for a long time ...” John starts to say. He looks down, clearly struggling.

“Go on.” Mary encourages. I grin. She was so good for him.

“Yes, I will. As you know, these last couple of years haven’t been easy for me; and meeting you ...” John says and looks at her for a moment, then nods. “Yeah, meeting you has been the best thing that could have possibly happened.”

“I agree.” Mary says.

“What?” John asks.

“I agree I’m the best thing that could have happened to you.” Mary says, smiling. I chuckle again. John laughs. Mary screws up her nose apologetically. “Sorry.”

“Well, no. That’s, um ...” John says. He pauses, then looks at her. “So ... if you’ll have me, Mary, could you see your way, um ...” She giggles. He clears his throat. “... if you could see your way to ...”

Just as he’s about to go for it, Sherlock glides over to the table, still with the glasses, the ridiculous fake moustache and the ridiculous fake accent, but now with the added bonus of a bottle of champagne which he shows to John. I groan. So close. “Sir, I think you’ll find this vintage exceptionally to your liking.” Mary shields her face with her hand so that the ‘waiter’ can’t see her as she giggles silently at John. “It ’as all the qualities of the old, with some of the colour of the new.”

John eyes locked on Mary’s. “No, sorry, not now, please.”

“Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers ...” Sherlock says. Mary pulls a face at John. “... suddenly one is aware of staring into ze face of an old friend.” He takes off his glasses.

“No, look, seriously ...” John says and he finally lifts his gaze to meet the waiter’s eyes. “... could you just ...” His face drops. His entire body jolts and he stares with an expression of utter disbelief.

“Interesting thing, a tuxedo. Lends distinction to friends, and anonymity to waiters.” Sherlock says in his normal voice.

John turns his head towards Mary, then his eyes fill with tears and he ducks his head momentarily before he stumbles clumsily to his feet. “John?” Mary asks concerned.  As John straightens up, Sherlock begins to move his right hand forward as if expecting John to shake it. John looks down at the table breathing heavily before lifting his head and briefly locking eyes with him. “John, what is it? What?” Mary asks, worried.

John looks down again, clearly still in shock. “Well, short version ...” Sherlock says,a little awkwardly. John raises his eyes to him again. “... Not Dead.” John stares at him, his face full of pain, shock and growing anger. Sherlock finally seems to catch on and looks a little guilty. “Bit mean, springing it on you like that, I know. Could have given you a heart attack, probably still will. But in my defense, it was very funny.” He laughs nervously, not meeting John’s eyes, which is probably for the best because John’s gaze is slowly turning murderous. “Okay, it’s not a great defense.”

“Oh no! You’re ...” Mary says.

“We should go over.” I say and get up. I rush over. “John. Mary.” I says softly.

John looks at me and glares. “You knew didn’t you?” He asks.

“Not the whole time…” I say softly.

“Oh, my God.” Mary says shocked.

“Not quite.” Sherlock says.

“You knew and didn’t tell me?!” John yells at me.

I look down and back up.

“You died. You jumped off a roof.” Mary says.

“No.” Sherlock says. I keep moving away.

“You’re dead!” Mary says appalled.

“No. I’m quite sure. I checked. Excuse me.” Sherlock says and picks up a napkin from the table, he dips it into Mary’s glass of water and then starts to rub off his moustache. Sherlock looks at John. “Does, er, does yours rub off, too?” He asks.

John smiles tightly at Sherlock and then me. I look down and try not to cry. I didn’t think he would be mad at me.

“Oh my God, oh my God. Do you have any idea what you’ve done to him?” Mary ask Sherlock, the anger is clear in her voice. She turns to me. “You knew what he was feeling and you let him believe it!? You call him your friend!?”

“Hey! She had to.” Mycroft says and pulls me into him.

Sherlock looks down. “Okay, John, I’m suddenly realizing I probably owe you some sort of an apology.”

Clenching his left fist, John slams it down onto the table. He hunches over his fist. “All right, just… John? Just keep…” Mary says.

John pulls in a deep shaky breathe before looking up at Sherlock. “Two years.” John says in a whisper. He shakes his head, dragging in another long breath and blowing it out again before starting to straighten up. “Two years.” He moans and slumps down over his hands again. Sherlock has the decency to look awkward. John glances up at him momentarily. “I thought ...” He groans, unable to continue and gesturing helplessly. Mary stares at him in sympathy. John finally straightens and turns to Sherlock. “I thought ... you were dead.” His face begins to fill with anger again. “Hmm?” He looks over at me. “And you! You let me talk about him and say how much I missed him. You said that you missed him too!” He breathes rapidly and shallowly. “Now, you let me grieve, hmm? How could you do that?” I start crying into Mycroft. Sherlock looks down, biting his lip. “How?”

“Wait – before you do anything that you might regret…” Sherlock says. John half-groans again. “…um, one question. Just let me ask one question. Um…” John looks at him. Almost giggling as he gestures towards his own top lip, Sherlock says. “Are you really gonna keep that?!” He grins as he turns his head to look at Mary. She laughs in disbelief. John draws in one more long breath, then hurls himself at Sherlock, grabbing his lapels and bundling him back across the floor until Sherlock loses his footing and they both fall to the floor, John on top of Sherlock and trying to throttle him. Mary and various waiters run to pull John off.

We got kicked out of the restaurant and go to a café. Mycroft and I sit down. I wanted to go home. Mary and John hated me. I move to Mycroft’s lap and he wraps his arms around him. Sherlock slips in beside us. Mary and John sit side by side opposite us with their arms folded. I didn’t look at them because I didn’t want to see them glaring at me. “I want to make sure John doesn’t kill Sherlock love.” Mycroft whispers into my ear. I nod and move more into Mycroft.

“I calculated that there were thirteen possibilities once I’d invited Moriarty onto the roof.” Sherlock starts explaining. “I wanted to avoid dying if at all possible. The first scenario involved hurling myself into a parked hospital van filled with washing bags. Impossible. The angle was too steep. Secondly, a system of Japanese wrestling…”

“You know, for a genius you can be remarkably thick.” John interrupts.

“What?” Sherlock asks.

“I don’t care how you faked it, Sherlock. I wanna know why.” John says.

“Why? Because Moriarty had to be stopped.” Sherlock says bewildered. He looks at John’s expression. “Oh. ‘Why’ as in... I see. Yes. ‘Why’? That’s a little more difficult to explain.”

“I’ve got all night.” John says darkly.

I move my head so I could see them all. Sherlock clears his throat and looks down. “Actually, um, that was mostly Mycroft’s idea.”

John looks at Mycroft. “Oh, so it’s your plan.”

Mary points to Sherlock. “Oh, he would have needed a confidant…” Mary trails off at John’s look. She refolds her arms and look down. John turns back to Sherlock.

“But those two” John points to Mycroft and me. “are the only two who knew?” John asks.

“Calliah didn’t know when I jumped.” Mycroft says. “She has only known for a year.”

“A year that I didn’t know! She should have told me.” John says.

I move into Mycroft more. “Can we go…?” I asks softly.

“Not yet love.” He whispers.

“A couple more knew..” Sherlock says. John lowers his head. “It was a very elaborate plan – it had to be. The next of the thirteen possibilities…”

“Who else?” John asks in a despairing whisper. He looks up at Sherlock. “Who else knew?” Sherlock hesitates. “Who?”

“Molly.” Sherlock says and looks at me.

“Molly?” John and I ask angrily. John looks at me.

“You didn’t know?” John asks.

“N-No.” I look at Sherlock and Mycroft. “My best friend knew but I couldn’t? Or John?”

“Sorry love…” Mycroft says softly. I sigh and look at John.

“Molly Hooper – and some of my homeless network, and that’s all.” Sherlock says.

“Okay.” John says and sits up. He glances round at Mary, who gives him a sympathetic smile. He turns to Sherlock. “Okay. So just those two, and Molly Hooper, and a hundred tramps.”

Sherlock chuckles. “No! Twenty-five at most.”

John looks at Sherlock and hurls himself across the table and attempts to throttle Sherlock again. I sheik and Mycroft shields me.

We got thrown out of the café and are now in a kebab show. John and Mary are standing leaning with their backs against the counter. Sherlock was standing in front of them. Mycroft and I were standing to the side. John actually hit Sherlock this time and busted up his lip. Sherlock is holding a paper napkin to the cut. He looks at the blood on the napkin, wincing, then presses it to his lip again. He looks at John as he raises his head, avoiding Sherlock’s gaze.

“Seriously, it’s not a joke?” Sherlock asks and gestures to his own top lid. I roll my eyes. He was going to die tonight. “You’re-you’re really keeping this?”

John clears his throat and meets Sherlock’s gaze. “Yeah.”

“You’re sure?” Sherlock asks.

“Mary likes it.” John says.

“Mmmmm, no she doesn’t.” Sherlock says.

“She does.” John says.

“She doesn’t.” Mycroft and I say.

John looks at us and then glances at Mary, then does a double-take. She makes incoherent apologetic noises. “Oh!” John says and tries to cover his moustache with his hand. “Brilliant.”

“I’m sorry. Oh, I’m sorry – I didn’t know how to tell you.” Mary says.

“No, no, this charming.” John says sarcastically. He points angrily at Sherlock. “I’ve really missed this.” He says sarcastically again. He looks down, then takes an aggressive step towards Sherlock and gets into his face. “One word, Sherlock. That is all I would have needed. One word to let me know that you were alive.” He steps back, breathing heavily.

“I’ve nearly been in contact so many times, but…” Sherlock says softly. John laughs disbelievingly. “…I worried that, you know, you might say something indiscreet?”

“What?” John asks.

“Well, you know, let the cat out of the bag.” Sherlock says.

John steps closer. “Oh, so this is my fault?! You trust Calliah with this secret?” John asks.

“Well… actually… I didn’t. I didn’t know she was living with Mycroft. I wanted a hot shower before I shipped off and well yeah. She was there.” Sherlock explains.

“So I would have not known if I hadn’t been in the house?” I ask.

“Of course.” Sherlock says.

I shake my head.

“Why am I the only one who thinks that this is wrong – the only one reacting like a human being?!” John shouts angrily.

“Over-reacting.” Sherlock says.

“Over-reacting?!” John asks furiously.

“John!” Mary says.

“’Over-reacting’. So you fake your own death…” John says, shouting.

“Shh!” Mycroft and Sherlock says.

“…and you waltz in ‘ere large as bloody life…” John continues.

“Shh!” Mycroft and Sherlock says.

“... but I’m not supposed to have a problem with that, no, because Sherlock Holmes thinks it’s a perfectly OKAY THING TO DO!” John finishes.

“Shut up, John! I don’t want everyone knowing I’m still alive!” Sherlock says, shouting.

“Oh, so it’s still a secret, is it?” John asks, shouting.

I put my hand on my head. These two are exhausting. I was getting a head ache.

“Yes! It’s still a secret!” Sherlock says loudly. He looks around at the other customers in the shop. He looks at John. “Promise you won’t tell anyone.” Sherlock says casually.

“Swear to God!” John says angrily and sarcastically. He looks around at the other customers and backs down a little, blowing out a long breath.

Sherlock steps closer to him and speaks quietly. “London is in danger, John. There’s an imminent terror attack and I need your help.”

John stares at Sherlock in amazement, then turns to throw a quirky ‘can you believe this guy?!’ look at Mary. He turns back to Sherlock. “My help?”

“Well, yours and Calliah’s.” Sherlock eyes narrow and then he smiles. “You have missed this. Admit it. The thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, just the three of us against the rest of the world ...” John grabs his lapels, rears his head back and hits Sherlock’s nose with his head.

We get thrown out of the kebab shop. Sherlock was standing just outside the door with his head tilted back a little. Blood was running from his nose. “I don’t understand.” Mycroft was off calling for his car and some gift baskets for the places we disturbed. I was standing by Sherlock and Mary was standing by me. Sherlock pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand and holds a paper napkin underneath. “I said I’m sorry. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?” I rub his arm and smiles softly.

John was down the road hailing a taxi.

“Gosh. You don’t know anything about human nature, do you?” Mary asks Sherlock.

Sherlock lowers his head and looks at her. “Mmm, nature? No. Human?...”

“No.” I says.

Sherlock smiles at me.

“I’ll talk him round. For both of you.” Mary says and smiles softly at me.

Sherlock looks at her curiously. “You will?”

“Yeah, you will?” I ask.

Mary smiles confidently. “Oh yeah.”

Sherlock looks at her closely. I knew he was deducting her. She smiles at him, then looks round as John calls to her. “Mary.” She turns and gives Sherlock and me a last smiles, then walks over to John.

“What did you find out?” I ask.

“Only child, linguist, cleaver, part time nurse, shortsighted, guardian, bakes own bread, disillusioned, cat lover, romantic, appendix scar, secret tattoo, size 12, liar.” Sherlock lists.

“Liar?” I ask.

“Almost everyone is a liar.” Sherlock says.

I shrug as Mycroft’s car pulls up.

That night, Sherlock and I, go to St. Barts. Molly walks into a locker room, takes out her keys and opens her locker. We were stand behind her and she sees us. She gasps and turns to look at him, starting to smile. “Sherlock.” She grins and looks over at Sherlock and me. She frowns slightly as she looks at me. “Ah, Calliah. Hi…”

“Hi Molly. So guess what I just found out?” I ask and cross my arms.

“Um… not dead?” Molly says softly. She smiles awkwardly.

“Oh no. I knew that a year ago.” I say.

“That…. I’m your best friend.. And you can’t kill me with Sherlock here?” Molly says.

“Nope. That my so called best friend knew Sherlock was alive and helped plan his fake death.” I say softly and frown.

“I…. er… Sherlock told me not to…” Molly says softly.

I sigh and go over. “I understand.”

Her eyes pop open. “You do?” She asks.

“Of course. John is pissed at me for not telling him and I am… I don’t know how I feel about that, but I know I wouldn’t want you to feel that way. So yes. I understand.” I say.

“Oh thank God.” Molly says and hugs me.

“Calliah. I have more people to visit.” Sherlock says behind me.

“Go on. I’m going to hang with Molly.” I tell Sherlock. He nods and leaves.

“Let’s have a double date.” I say.

“I can’t… I actually have to go… I’m sorry…” Molly says softly.

“What? Why?” I ask.

“I have plans…” Molly says.

“Oh.” I smile and get out my phone. “Okay. I’ll call Mycroft and have him pick me up. He can take me somewhere nice.” I say.

“Okay. We will plan another day to hang out.” Molly says and hugs me.

“Okay.” I hug her back and then she leaves. I call Mycroft. “Croft?”

“What is it love?” Mycroft asks. “Is Sherlock being annoying?”

“No. He left…” I start to say.

“What? Why did he leave you? Are you in trouble?” Mycroft interrupts me.

I sigh and roll my eyes. “I’m fine. I told Sherlock to leave. I was going to hang with Molly but she has plans. So, I was thinking that I would let you take me out.”

He sighs. “Calliah… I have to work. When you said you were going with Sherlock I went to the office. I’m there right now.”

I frown. “Oh. Okay. I will head home. Maybe stop at the movies and have some fun.”

“No. I can come.” He says.

“No. No, work. I will just hang alone. I am fine being alone Croft. I will see you tonight.” I say.

“Are you sure?” Mycroft asks.

“Yes. I’ll see you later. I love you.” I say.

“Love you too.” Mycroft says and I hang up.

I sigh and go home.

 

 


	32. Chapter 32

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the first part of the Empty Hearse**

**I own nothing, except Calliah and my ideas.**

Mycroft and I go to Baker Street the next morning. Mycroft and I were sitting in John’s chair, Mycroft in the chair and I was on the arm of the chair, and Sherlock was sitting in his. “All very interesting, Sherlock, but the terror alert has been raised to Critical.” Mycroft says as Sherlock sits back from taking his turn, his eyes locked onto Mycroft’s.

“Boring. Your move.” Sherlock says.

“We have solid information. An attack is coming.” Mycroft says and glances down to make his move.

“’Solid information.’ A secret terrorist organization’s planning an attack – that’s what secret terrorist organizations do, isn’t it? It’s their version of golf.” Sherlock says.

“An agent gave his life to tell us that.” Mycroft says.

“Oh, well, perhaps he shouldn’t have done. He was obviously just trying to show off.” Sherlock says. I chuckle and whisper help in Mycroft’s ear. “Hey no help from the gallery.” I stick my tongue out.

“None of these markers of yours is behaving in any way suspiciously?” Mycroft asks. He glances down again and makes a move. “You-r move.”

“No, Mycroft, but you have to trust me. I’ll find the answer. It’ll be in an odd phrase in an online blog, or an unexpected trip to the countryside, or a misplaced Lonely Hearts ad.” He had only glanced down briefly before speaking. “Your move.”

Mycroft glances down briefly before raising his eyes to Sherlock’s again. “I’ve given the Prime Minister my personal assurance you’re on the case.”

“I am on the case. We’re all on the case. Look at us right now.” Sherlock says.

There is a loud buzzing and a red light flashes. “Oh, bugger!” I chuckle as he angrily drops the small tweezers.

“Oopsie!” Sherlock says. Mycroft returns the piece to the board. Sherlock looks at the piece. “Can’t handle a broken heart – remember that big sis.” He looks up at me and sits back in his chair and crosses his legs. I wink at him.

“Don’t be smart.” Mycroft says and places a hand on my knee.

“That takes me back.” Sherlock says and takes on a little boy’s voice. “’Don’t be smart, Sherlock. I’m the smart one’.”

Mycroft glowers at him. “I am the smart one.”

Sherlock looks off the side. “I use to think I was an idiot.” Sherlock says.

“Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on ‘til we met other children.” Mycroft explains.

“Oh, yes. That was a mistake.” Sherlock says.

“Ghastly. What were they thinking of?” Mycroft says.

“Probably something about trying to make friends.” Sherlock explains.

“Oh yes. Friends. Of course, you go in for that sort of thing now.” Mycroft says.

Sherlock looks at him closely. “You do too. You have Calliah.”

“Calliah is an exception to my rule. Others don’t. If you seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what real people are like? I’m living in a world of goldfish.” Mycroft says.

“Yes, but I’ve been away for two years.” Sherlock says.

“So?” Mycroft asks.

Sherlock shrugs. “Well… you did find yourself a… goldfish.”

“I am not a goldfish!” I yell at the same time Mycroft yells, “She is not a goldfish!” He moves me to his lap.

“Rest assured, Mycroft – whatever this underground network of yours is up to, the secret will reside in something seemingly insignificant or bizarre.” Sherlock says.

Mrs. Hudson walks in with a tray of tea things.

“Speaking of which…” Mycroft says. Sherlock smiles.

Mrs. Hudson puts the tray on the dining table. “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it! Him – sitting in his chair again!” She looks at us. “Oh, isn’t it wonderful, Mr. Holmes and Mrs. Holmes?”

“Not Mrs. Holmes yet Mrs. Hudson.” I say.

“I can barely contain myself.” Mycroft says sarcastically. I slap his arm gently.

“Oh, he really can, you know.” Sherlock says.

“He’s secretly pleased to see you underneath all that…” Mrs. Hudson says. She pulls a sour face.

“Sorry – which of us?” Mycroft asks.

“Both of you.” Mrs. Hudson says and leaves the room.

“She called me Mrs. Holmes.” I say softly and grin up at Mycroft.

“Yes she did. And soon you will.” Mycroft says and kisses me softly.

“Gah, no more sentimental. Let’s play something different.” Sherlock says.

“Why are we playing games?” Mycroft asks with an exasperated sigh.

“Well, London’s terror alert has been raised to Critical.” Sherlock says and flails his legs over the table in front of him and stands up. “I’m just passing the time. Let’s do deductions.” He walks over to the dining table and picks up a woolen bobble hat which has earflaps with a dangly woolen pom pom hanging from each flap. “Client left this while I was out. What d’you reckon?” He tosses it to his brother.

Mycroft catches it. “I’m busy.”

“Oh, go on. It’s been an age.” Sherlock says.

Mycroft lifts the hat to his nose and sniffs, then looks at Sherlock. “I always win.”

“Which is why you can’t resist.” Sherlock says.

“I find nothing irresistible in the hat of a well-travelled anxious sentimental unfit creature of habit with appalling halitosis ...” Mycroft says, quick fire. He stops when he notices Sherlock’s widening smile. “Damn.” He throws the hat back to Sherlock.

“That was hot.” I whisper to him. He smirks at me and winks.

“Isolated, too, don’t you think?” Sherlock asks.

“Why would he be isolated?” Mycroft asks.

“’He’?” Sherlock asks.

“Obviously.” Mycroft says and places a kiss on my cheek.

“Why? Size of the hat?” Sherlock asks.

“Don’t be silly. Some women have large heads too.” Sherlock flinches slightly. “No – he’s recently had his hair cut. You can see the little hairs adhering to the perspiration stains on the inside.”

Sherlock looks down at the hat, pouting slightly. I chuckle as Mycroft places a kiss on my shoulder. “Some women have short hair, too.”

“Balance of probability.” Mycroft says.

“Not that you’ve ever spoken to a woman with short hair.” Sherlock says.

“No, he likes his girls to have long hair.” I add in.

“Stains show he’s out of condition, and he’s sentimental because the hat has been repaired three, four…” Mycroft starts to say.

“Five times.” Sherlock says and throws the hat back to Mycroft. “Very neatly. The cost of the repairs exceeds the cost of the hat, so he's mawkishly attached to it, but it’s more than that. One, perhaps two, patches would indicate sentimentality, but five? Five’s excessive behavior. Obsessive compulsive.”

“Hardly. Your client left it behind. What sort of an obsessive compulsive would do that?” Mycroft says. He throws the hat back to Sherlock, who grabs it with an exasperated grimace. “The earlier patches are extensively sun-bleached, so he’s worn it abroad – in Peru.”

“Peru?” Sherlock asks.

“This a chullo – the classic headgear of the Andes. It’s made of alpaca.” Mycroft explains.

“No.” Sherlock says smirking.

“No?” Mycroft asks.

“Icelandic sheep wool. Similar, but very distinctive if you know what you’re looking for. I’ve written a blog on the varying tensile strengths of different natural fibers.” Sherlock explains.

“I’m sure there’s a crying need for that.” Mrs. Hudson says as he comes back into the room with a teapot.

Sherlock pauses for a moment and then turns back to Mycroft. “You said he was anxious.”

“The bobble on the left side has been badly chewed, which shows he’s a man of a nervous disposition but…” Mycroft starts.

“…but also a creature of habit because he hasn’t chewed the bobble on the right.” Sherlock finishes.

“Precisely.” Mycroft says.

Sherlock lifts the hat and sniffs it before lowering it again, grimacing. “Brief sniff of the offending bobble tells us everything we need to know about the state of his breath.” He turns away. “Brilliant.” He says sarcastically.

“Elementary.” Mycroft says and kisses my neck softly. I giggle and roll my eyes.

“But you’ve missed his isolation.” Sherlock says.

“I don’t see it.” Mycroft says.

“Plain as day. If you weren’t flirting then you would have seen it.” Sherlock says and I blush.

“Where?” Mycroft asks.

“There for all to see.” Sherlock says.

“Tell me.” Mycroft demands.

“Plain as the nose on your...” Sherlock starts to say.

“Tell me.” Mycroft interrupt.

Sherlock turns back to us. “Well, anybody who wears a hat as stupid as this isn’t in the habit of handing around other people, is he?”

“Not at all. Maybe he just doesn’t mind being different. He doesn’t necessarily have to be isolated.” Mycroft says.

“Exactly.” Sherlock says. He looks down at the hat again.

Mycroft blinks several times, apparently confused. “I’m sorry?”

Sherlock looks at Mycroft. “He’s different – so what? Why would he mind? You’re quite right.” He lifts the hat and perches it on the top of his head, then looks pointedly at his brother. “Why would anyone mind?”

Mycroft opens his mouth but seems to struggle to speak for a moment. What was going on? “…I’m not lonely, Sherlock. I have Calliah.”

“But of course she isn’t always there. She is with me and John and Molly. She can’t give you her full attention.” Sherlock says.

I look at Mycroft and frown. Mycroft taps the side of my legs and I get down. Mycroft gets up and looks at Sherlock. “Yes. Back to work if you don’t mind. Good morning. Calliah. I will see you when I get home.” He walks to the door. I frown at him and look at Sherlock.

“Mycroft.” I call and chase after Mycroft. He stops at the end of the stairs and I run down them. “Croft. What was all that? Are you lonely?”

He looks at me. “Sometimes.”

“Why?” I ask and move up some steps so I was the same height.

“I have been lonely most of my life. Sherlock was younger and I couldn’t be seen with him at school, and so that made him ignore me at home and so I grew up lonely. Sherlock had Blackbeard and I had my books. When I met you, I finally had someone who I could talk to, but you have other things in your life. I can’t make you give up going on cases with Sherlock and John, lunches with John and Mary, or drinks after work with Molly, but sometimes when I’m not with you, I get lonely. I could be in a meeting and still be lonely. You are my everything.”

I teared up halfway through his little speech and hug him. “Oh love…” I say softly. He hugs back. I pulls back and place my hands on his shoulder. “When you get alone, text me and I will talk to you. If we can both call then we can talk on the phone. You are my everything too. Just talk to me okay?” I say. He nods and kisses me.

“Not on the stairs you two.” I hear behind me. I look back and see Mrs. Hudson coming down.

“Mrs. Hudson. Can’t two people in love show it with a simple kiss?” I ask.

“You two are so cute.” Mrs. Hudson says and goes into her flat.

“I do have to go to work love. I’ll call on my lunch break.” Mycroft says.

“Okay, maybe tonight we can start planning the wedding?” I ask.

“Sounds perfect. Love you.” Mycroft says and kisses me softly.

“Love you too. Now go be the government.” I say and smile. He rolls his eyes and leaves. I go up to the flat and see Sherlock is standing by the window. “Thanks for getting him to talk about that.”

Sherlock turns to me and smiles softly. “Of course. You too deserve the best and I want you two to be happy.”

“Aww thanks little bro.” I say and sit in John’s seat. “So any word from John?”

“No.” He says and frowns. “Want to do some cases?”

“I actually have to go do some things.” I say softly and bite my lip. I smile and grin.

“What?” Sherlock asks.

“Ask Molly.” I say.

“W-What?” Sherlock says.

“Call Molly to do the cases with you. You two would be great together.” I say.

Sherlock hesitates. “I- Okay.”

I walk over and hug him. “I’ll stop in later okay?”

“You don’t have to.” Sherlock says.

“I know. That’s what makes me so nice.” I say and walk out.

Later, I am walking to Sherlock’s when I see John. “John!” I say and run over.

“Calliah.” He greets me. “I’m sorry.”

I look at him in confusion. “You’re sorry? I should be the one begging at your feet to let me back into your life.”

“No, I talked with Mary. You didn’t know he was doing it. You found out my chance. I shouldn’t have turned on you like that.” John says.

“Well… You’re forgiven.” I say. John offers me his arm and I take it and grin. “Two of the trio back together.” I giggle.

We walk towards Sherlock’s flat and John stops a couple feet away, looking at the door thoughtfully. A man comes around the corner and walks along the road, barging past John and bumps roughly into his shoulder. John and I turn as the man continues onwards without speaking. “’Scuse you.” John says sarcastically. I roll my eyes. The man glances over his shoulder at us but doesn’t stop. I feel my wrist getting taken a needle in my neck. I look over and see the same thing happened to John. Three other people come out and lower us to the ground and then I black out.

I wake up later and John and I are lying on our backs side to side under some wood. We hear some kind of party going on around us. I open my mouth and try to cry out but all that comes out is a faint moan. I try to get up but can’t. I keep trying to talk but only get the moans. I feel John trying to do the same thing. I finally can talk and I start yelling. “Help!” I keep screaming it and hear John doing the same. It starts getting hotter and I scream “Help” more. I hear Sherlock, Mary, and Mycroft outside and I scream “Help” even more. I see someone moving the bonfire away, trying to get to me. One more piece moves and I see Mycroft. He pulls me out and I lay back. “J-John.” I croak out and try to get up.

“No love. Sherlock has him.” He says and helps me sit up. I nod and lean on him. He rubs my back and I smile softly.

“My p-prince.” I say and cough. Some smoke damage, I think.

“I don’t want a damsel in distress love.” He says and smile down at me. “I want you safe.”

The next day, I was at Sherlock’s flat. Mummy and daddy Holmes was visiting and I wanted to spend a lot of time with them. Sherlock sitting in his armchair with his eyes closed, sighing quietly and occasionally drumming his fingers on the arms of the chair. Mummy and daddy Holmes was sitting on the couch. I come into the kitchen with their teas and give it to them and sit in the middle of them. “... which wasn’t the way I’d put it at all. Silly woman. Anyway, it was then that I first noticed it was missing. I said, “Have you checked down the back of the sofa?”” Mummy Holmes says. Sherlock screws his face up, then tilts his head forward a little, almost nodding off to sleep until his head jerks back up again. He steeples his fingers in front of his face as Mummy Holmes look at me and Daddy Holmes. “He’s always losing things down the back of the sofa, aren’t you, dear?”

“’Fraid so.” Daddy Holmes says. I chuckle. Sherlock glares towards the kitchen.

“Keys, small change, sweeties. Especially his glasses.” Mummy Holmes says.

“Glasses.” Daddy Holmes agrees.

“Blooming things. I said, “Why don’t you get a chain – wear ’em round your neck?” And he says, “What – like Larry Grayson?”” Mummy Holmes says.

“Larry Grayson.” Daddy Holmes says almost at the same time.

Sherlock rises quickly to his feet, buttoning his jacket as he walks towards us. “So did you find it eventually, your lottery ticket?” he asks. He steps onto the coffee table and then onto the sofa between me and Daddy Holmes. Daddy Holmes stares up at him as he starts idly flicking through the paperwork stuck to the wall. I roll my eyes at Mummy Holmes.

“Well, yes, thank goodness. We caught the coach on time after all. We managed to see, er, St Paul’s, the Tower ... but they weren’t letting anyone in to Parliament.” Mummy Holmes explains. Sherlock frowns and looks down at her. “Some big debate going on.”

The living room door opens and John walks in. Sherlock looks round in surprise. “John!”

“Sorry – you’re busy.” John says.

Sherlock steps off the sofa and reaching down to pull Mummy Holmes to her feet. “Er, no-no-no, they were just leaving.”

“Oh, were we?” Mummy asks.

I frown. “No they weren’t.”

“Yes. “ Sherlock says.

“No, no, if you’ve got a case ...” John says. I chuckles.

“No, not a case, no-no-no.” Sherlock says and then turns to Mummy Holmes. “Go. ’Bye.”

“Yeah, well, we’re here ’til Saturday, remember. You too Calliah.” Mummy Holmes says.

“I will.” I say.

“Yes, great, wonderful. Just get out.” Sherlock says. He herds the couple towards the door.

“Well, give us a ring.” Mummy Holmes says.

“Very nice, yes, good. Get out.” Sherlock says.

“Calliah, see you tomorrow?” Mummy Holmes asks.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” I say. Bundling them onto the landing, he tries to close the door but the woman turns and sticks her heavy shoe into the doorway to stop the door from shutting.

“Oh, for God...” Sherlock says. He shoves the door closed and lets out a deep sigh before turning to John and me. “Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s fine. Clients?” John asks.

“... Just” Sherlock starts.

“His parents.” I finish.

“Your parents?” John asks.

“In town for a few days.” Sherlock explains.

“Which sucks.” I say and pout.

“Your parents?” John asks.

“Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of “Les Mis”. Tried to talk me into doing it.” Sherlock says.

“Did he really? He knows how much I am looking forward to this.” I say.

“Those were your parents?” John asks. He goes to the window to look out.

“Yes.” Sherlock says.

“Well ...” John says and chuckles briefly. “That is not what I ...” He turns to look at Sherlock, then looks out of the window again.

“What?” Sherlock asks.

“I-I mean they’re just ... so ...” John says. He looks at Sherlock who directs a hard gaze at him, narrowing his eyes. “... ordinary.” He smiles.

Sherlock tuts disparagingly. “It’s a cross I have to bear.”

“Whatever, you love them.” I say and roll my eyes.

John chuckles, then slowly takes a few steps across the room before turning back. “Did they know, too?”

Sherlock won’t meet his eyes. “Hmm?”

“That you spent the last two years playing hide and seek.” John says.

Sherlock picks an imaginary piece of fluff off the keyboard of his laptop which is open on the dining table. “Maybe.”

“Ah! So that’s why they weren’t at the funeral.” John says.

“Sorry. Sorry again.” Sherlock says defensively.

“Mm.” John says cynically. He slowly steps towards the door.

Sherlock watches him go for a moment, then lowers his head. “Sorry.” He says softly. Drawing in a deep breath, John meets his eyes for a second and then looks down, breathing out slowly. “See you’ve shaved it off, then.”

“Yeah. Wasn’t working for me.” John says.

“Mm, I’m glad.” Sherlock says.

“What, you didn’t like it?” John jokes. I roll my eyes. My boys were back.

“No. I prefer my doctors clean-shaven.” Sherlock says smiling.

“That’s not a sentence you hear every day!” John says. He has been slowly walking across the room again and is now in front of his old chair. He sits down in it, grunting a little. I see that there are healing cuts and gashes on the side of his head where it was scratched by the foliage while he was thrashing about under the bonfire.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

“Yeah, not bad. Bit ... smoked.” John jokes. “You?”

“I’ll be fine.” I say and shrug. My lungs hurt a little but I was fine.

John looks at Sherlock seriously. “Last night – who did that? And why did they target Calliah and me?”

“I don’t know.” Sherlock says.

“Is it someone trying to get to you through us? Is it something to do with this terrorist thing you talked about?” John asks.

“I don’t know. I can’t see the pattern. It’s too nebulous.” Sherlock says and walks towards his wall of information. “Why would an agent give his life to tell us something incredibly insignificant? That’s what’s strange.”

“’Give his life’?” John asks.

“According to Mycroft. There’s an underground network planning an attack on London – that’s all we know.” Sherlock explains. He looks down and frowns. He turns and gestures to the paperwork on the wall. “These are my rats, John.”

“Rats?” John asks.

“My markers: agents, low-lifes, people who might find themselves arrested or their diplomatic immunity suddenly rescinded. If one of them starts acting suspiciously, we know something’s up. Five of them are behaving perfectly normally, but the sixth ...” Sherlock explains and points to the relevant photograph.

John points to the photo. “I know him, don’t I?”

“Lord Moran, peer of the realm, Minister for Overseas Development. Pillar of the establishment.” Sherlock explains.

“Yes!” John says.

“He’s been working for North Korea since 1996.” Sherlock explains.

“What?” John asks.

“He’s the Big Rat. Rat Number One. And he’s just done something very suspicious indeed.” Sherlock says.

 


	33. Chapter 33

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the next part of the Empty Hearse**

**I own nothing, except Calliah and my ideas.**

I had left to go home, when Sherlock and John called me back to the flat. We walk briskly along the road near the Houses of Parliament and head to the stairs leading down into Westminster station. We walk across the concourse, through the ticket barriers and along the corridors. “So it’s a bomb, then? A Tube carriage is carrying a bomb.”

“Must be.” Sherlock says.

“Right.” John says, and takes off his gloves and takes out his phone.

“What are you doing?” I ask John.

“Calling the police.” John says.

“What? No!” Sherlock says.

“Sherlock, this isn’t a game. They need to evacuate Parliament.” John says.

“They’ll get in the way. They always do. This is cleaner, more efficient.” Sherlock says. We stop at a locked maintenance entrance, he reaches into his coat, takes out a crowbar and starts to force the gate open.

“And illegal.” John says.

“A bit.” Sherlock says.

The gate opens and we go inside, Sherlock pulls the gate closed behind us and the boys take out flashlights and we start walking down into the maintenance tunnels. John and I walk behind Sherlock and John checks his phone. “No service.” He whispers softly to me.

Sherlock raises his head. “What are you two doing?” He asks, not looking back at us.

“Coming.” John says and sighs. He puts his phone away. We continue onwards for a long time, walking along narrow tunnels and walkways and climbing down steep metal ladders. I was happy that I wore flats today. We finally get onto the platform of Sumatra Road station. Sherlock shines his torch along the length of the track but there is no sigh of a train.

“I don’t understand.” Sherlock says.

“Well, that’s a first.” John say and looks at me. I chuckle.

“There’s nowhere else it could be.” Sherlock says, ignoring us. He turns to face the track and brings his hands up to either side of his head, screwing his eyes shut and concentrating. After a couple seconds Sherlock’s eyes snap open. “Oh!” Turning to the left, he runs towards the end of the platform.

“What?” John asks as we follow. Sherlock jumps carefully off the end of the platform onto the tracks. “Hang on. Sherlock?”

Sherlock turns back. “What?”

“That’s… Isn’t it live?” John asks.

Sherlock starts walking along the tracks. “Perfectly safe as long as we avoid touching the rails.”

“’Course, yeah. Avoid the rails. Great.” John says sarcastically. He jumps down and helps me down.

“This way.” Sherlock says.

“You sure?” I ask.

“Sure.” Sherlock.

We don’t have to walk that far till we see the missing carriage. “Ah. Look at that.” John says.

We continue on, then Sherlock looks up. I look up and see vents. Sherlock shines his flashlight into it and see small explosive attached to the sides of the vent. “John.” Sherlock calls to John.

“Hmm?” John asks and shines his flashlight and see the explosives. “Demolition charges.” We continue to the carriage, John ducks down and shines his light underneath and around it as we approach. He blows out a long breath as we get close and again he squats down to check the underside while Sherlock looks along the side. Sherlock opens the door to the driver’s cab and we climb in and then go carefully through the opposite door into the carriage itself. Slowly we work our way along it, looking at every seat, every corner, the boy shining their torches along the ceiling and the floor. At the second set of side doors, Sherlock slows down, paying particular attention to something. John progresses on to the very end. “It’s empty. There’s nothing.”

“Isn’t there?” Sherlock asks. John turns back and points his torch where Sherlock is gently lifting the cushion, bending low to shine his light underneath. Sherlock lifts his head and looks round at us. “This is the bomb.”

“What?” I ask.

Sherlock stands up and lift the cushion all the way up. The cavity underneath is full of wired-up explosives. “It’s not carrying explosives. The whole compartment is the bomb.” We work our along the carriage, lifting other cushions at random. Each one has an identical explosive device under it. While John and I continue lifting seat cushions, Sherlock looks around the carriage and then takes a few steps along the aisle before realizing that a floor panel is loose. As John looks down at the latest batch of explosives, Sherlock takes his gloves off and bends to the panel, forcing his fingers into the gap and lifting it. Underneath is what can only be described as the ‘mother bomb’ – a device massively larger than the ones under the cushions. While John takes several deep nervous breaths and I grip John’s hand, Sherlock props the panel up against the wall of the train. We all look down at the massive device, then John and I look up at Sherlock.

“We need bomb disposal.” John says.

“There may not be time for that now.” Sherlock says.

“So what do we do?” I ask.

Sherlock pauses. “I have no idea.”

“Well, think of something.” John says sternly.

“Why d’you think I know what to do?” Sherlock asks.

“Because you’re Sherlock Holmes.” John says.

“You’re as clever as it gets.” I say.

“Doesn’t mean I know how to defuse a giant bomb. What about one of you?” Sherlock asks.

“I’m only a lousy doctor!” I yell.

“I wasn’t in bomb disposal. I’m a bloody doctor.” John says.

Sherlock angrily points his torch at John. “And a soldier, as you keep reminding us all.”

John looks down at the countdown. “Can’t-can’t we rip the timer off, or something?” He asks.

“That would set it off.” Sherlock says.

“You see? You know things.” John says. Sherlock turns away, sighing.

All the light come on and the countdown clock on the mother bomb begins to tick down. We look around in shock and John groans.  “Er…”

John was breathing fast. “My God!” John says.

Sherlock paces away from us. “Er…”

“Why didn’t you call the police?” John asks.

“Please just...” Sherlock says.

“Why do you never call the police?” John asks furiously.

“Well, it’s no use now.” I say softly. I sit down and bring my knees to my chest.

“So you can’t switch the bomb off? You can’t switch the bomb off and you didn’t call the police.” John says angrily. He turns away for a moment and then turns back again.

Sherlock looks at us. “Go, John. Take Calliah and leave.” He points towards the driver’s cab. “Go now.”

“There’s no point now, is there, because there’s not enough time to get away; and of we don’t do this…” John says and points down to the mother bomb. “…other people will die!” He looks down at the clock for a moment, then points at Sherlock. “Mind Palace.”

“Hmmm?” Sherlock asks.

“Use your Mind Palace.” I say.

“How will that help?” Sherlock asks.

“You’ve salted away every fact under the sun!” John says.

“Oh, and you think I’ve just got ‘How To Defuse A Bomb’ tucked away in there somewhere?” Sherlock asks.

“Yes!” John and I yell.

Sherlock thinks about it for a second. “Maybe.” He brings his fingers up to the sides of his face and screws his eyes shut.

“Think.” John says intensely. Sherlock lifts his head a little, still concentrating. “Think. Please think.” Sherlock groans. “Think!” Sherlock’s hands come away from his face and flail, while his eyes remain closed and he continues to make groaning noises. John closes his eyes, shaking his head as the noises get louder and finally Sherlock lets out a cry and opens his eyes. He breathes heavily for a moment, then he lowers his hands and looks at us with a blank but apologetic look on his face. John stares at him in disbelief. I start crying softly and place my head into my knees. “Oh my God.” I look up and see John turning away. Sherlock tears his scarf from around his neck and doubles over, burying his head in his hands, still making incoherent groaning noises. He drops to his knees next to the bomb while John wanders a little way down the carriage. I get up and move over to John. I grip his hand and he wraps an arm around me.

“Um, er…” I hear Sherlock say.

John stares into space. “Oh my God.” John says softly.

“Turn that off. Oh God! Er, um, er…” Sherlock mumbles softly.

John and I turn back towards Sherlock and Sherlock raises his head. “I’m sorry.”

John screws his eyes closed for a moment, then looks at Sherlock again. “What?”

Sherlock’s eyes start to fill with tears. I rush over and hug him. “I can’t… I can’t do it, John and Calliah. I don’t know how.” Sherlock says softly. He straightens up on his knees and holds me to him. “Forgive me?”

“What?” John asks tightly, furiously.

“Please, John, forgive me… for all the hurt that I cause you. You too Calliah.” Sherlock says softly. I nod.

John waves a finger at him. “No, no, no, no, no. This is a trick.”

“No.” Sherlock says.

“You’re just trying to make me say something nice.” John says.

Sherlock chuckles briefly. “Not this time.”

“It’s just to make you look good even though you behaved like…” John starts to say and grimaces, fighting back tears, and turns away as he tries to steady his breathing. Sherlock moves away from the bomb, bringing me with, and sits on the edge of one the nearby seats. John grips one of the handrails, looking down at the floor, then stamps his foot furiously. His voice is low but savage when he speaks. “I wanted you not to be dead.”

“Yeah, well, be careful what you wish for.” Sherlock says. John sighs. “If I hadn’t come back, you two wouldn’t be here and…” Baring his teeth, John turns away, shaking his head. “…you’d still have a future… with Mary and Calliah with Mycroft.”

John turns and points at Sherlock. “Yeah. I know.” He grimaces and turns away again. Sherlock clenches his fist against his mouth, then wipes his nose, his face full despair. Finally, John turns back. His voice is low and tight. “Look, I find it difficult.” Sherlock nods, his head lowered. “I find it difficult, this sort of stuff.”

Sherlock looks up at him. “I know.”

John blows out a breath, lowering his head, then he straightens up and looks at us. “You were the best and the wisest man…” He says in a whisper and sniff. “…that I have ever known.” Sherlock looks at him, his eyes wide and tear-filled. I knew that that meant a lot to Sherlock, who didn’t have many people think he was great. John sighs, lowering his head again before raising it once it once more. “Yes, of course I forgive you.” Sherlock gazes at him. John meets his eyes for a moment. He looks at me. “Calliah, you are the most amazing woman I have ever gotten the pleasure of meeting and getting to call my friend.” I start sobbing.

“You are the bravest man I now John.” I say. John grips the handrail and lowers his head, blowing out a long breath. Nearby it sounds as if Sherlock is crying. His head is lowered and the back of his hand is across his mouth while his body shakes with what seem to be sobs. I bring my knees to the chest and close my eyes. John screws his eyes even more tightly closed. Sherlock lowers his hand and turns his head away, then turns back, hooting with laughter. John opens his eyes and looks across to him as Sherlock giggles in high-pitched hilarity. I look over at him and glare at him. “What the Hell?” Staring at him, John steps forward and looks down at the countdown clock on the mother bomb. I get up and go over to the bomb. It is repeatedly flicking back and forth between 1:28 and 1:29. John turns away as if he can’t believe it. I turn to Sherlock and stare at him.

“You..” John says.

Sherlock stands up, tears of mirth streaming down his cheeks. He was laughing hysterically. “Oh, your face. Both of your faces.”

“…utter…” John continues.

“Both of your faces!” Sherlock keeps laughing.

“You…” John says.

Sherlock grins. “I totally had you two.”

“You cock! I knew it! I knew it! You f…” John says.

Sherlock says simultaneously. “Oh, those things you said – such sweet things! I-I never knew you cared.”

“I will kill you if you ever breathe a word of this…” John says glaring at him.

Sherlock grins while holding up two fingers in a Boy Scout’s salute. “Scout’s honour.”

“…to anyone. You KNEW!” John yells.

“Ahh.” Sherlock says and squats down to the bomb.

“You knew how to turn it off!” John says.

“There’s an Off switch.” Sherlock explains. John bends down to look. Sherlock stands up. “Terrorists can get into all sorts of problems unless there’s an Off switch.”

“So why did you let me go through all that?” John asks tightly.

“I didn’t lie altogether. I’ve absolutely no idea how to turn any of these silly little lights off.” Sherlock explains. He chuckles and wipes the tears off his cheeks. “Oh!” Through the open door of the driver’s cab, a voice over a walkie-talkie radio can be heard, and flashlight beams are approaching along the tunnel. John stares, then points towards them.

“And you did call the police.” John says.

“’Course I called the police.” Sherlock says.

Three armed officers are approaching, flashlights shining from their raised rifles. “I’m definitely gonna kill you.”

“Oh, please. Killing me – that’s so two years ago.” Sherlock say and quirks a smile at John. He looks at me and smiles. “That was funny, wasn’t it Calliah?” I lift my hand and slap him.

“I hate you.” I say and storm out.

“Mycroft Holmes is waiting for you at the station.” One of the men tell me as I pass. I nod and go to the station. I climb out and see Mycroft. I go over.

“Your brother is an ass hat and I hate him.” I say.

“Okay love.” He says to me.

“I want to go home. We have Les Miserable in the morning. And what did I hear that you tried to get out of it?” I ask.

“Um… yeah…” Mycroft says. I roll my eyes as we leave.


	34. Chapter 34

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the wedding!**

**I own nothing, except Calliah and my ideas.**

**If you want to see Calliah’s outfit:** <http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=146060796>

**If you want to see Molly’s outfit:** <http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=146062283>

**I hope this lives up to everyone’s expectations. **

I was sitting in front of a mirror. I was staring at myself in the mirror. “You nervous?” I hear behind me. I look back and see Molly.

I smile softly. “A little. Is that bad?”

“No. I heard that if you aren’t nervous, then that is when you have to worry.” She says and wraps her arms around my shoulders. She rests her head on my shoulder and looks at me in the mirror. “You love him. He loves you. This is something you both want.”

“Too many people out there.” I say and close my eyes.

“There is not too many people. I mean it is only eight of us and then you and Mycroft.” Molly says.

“Too many.” I say.

She sighs and turns my seat around and looks me in the eyes. “You will be fine. You will get ready, put on that dress, get your flowers and get married. Once you see Mycroft, you won’t notice anyone else.” Molly says.

“How do you know?” I ask.

“I’m a romantic. I watch a lot of movies.” She says and shrugs. I look at her in her mint green bridesmaid dress. It was lace on the top and flowed to her knees. She had her hair in a low side pony and a white flats. I laugh and nod. “Okay, time to get ready. You can’t be late.” I nod and sit down in my chair. A hair stylist comes in and starts doing my hair. I smile at Molly and she smiles back. After the hair stylist gets done, I look at my hair. She had curled my hair and twisted it into a beautiful bun. I even had a simple tiara on top. I grin. “Oh Calliah, it looks amazing!”

“Thanks.” I say and start doing my make-up. I did it light, since I hated make-up. I put on my silver hoops, a diamond heart pendant, and my diamond drop earrings. “Time for the dress.” I say softly and Molly grins. I go over and she slips on my dress. It was a sweetheart lining and flowed down to the ground. It had a belt around my waist and a small flower to the side. There was two layers of sheer fabric over the skirt and it laced up in the back. I felt like a princess. I slip on my silver heels and turn to Molly. She tears up and I grin. “Oh Mol.”

She comes over and hugs me. “I’m just so happy for you. Mycroft and you are a perfect couple. You two were made for each other.”

I chuckle as I hug back. “We aren’t perfect but we are one of the best.” I say. Molly hands me my flowers, which had white roses and mint green flowers. Molly grabs her flowers and looks at me.

“Ready?” She asks. I nod and grin. She nods and goes to get ready. I look in the mirror and grin. I take a deep breath and go to my place. I wait till I hear the wedding march and I go out into the room. We rented a small room and a banquet hall. I look around and see Mrs. Hudson with Mummy and daddy Holmes. I look over and see Sherlock with John and Mary and Greg by them. I look up at the front and see Molly. She smiles at me and I smile back. I finally look at Mycroft and as Molly said, forgot about everyone else. He looked amazing. He was in a traditional suit but it was him. I couldn’t see him in anything but that. He grins when he sees me looking at him. I feel butterflies and start to giggle. I get to him and hand my flowers to Molly and turn to Mycroft.

“Hello.” Mycroft says softly.

I grin. “Hello.” I say softly. He takes my hands in his.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate one of life's greatest moments, the joining of two hearts and to give recognition to the worth and beauty of love, and to add our best wishes to the words which shall unite this couple in marriage. Should there be anyone who has cause why this couple should not be united in marriage, Shush!!” The preacher says. We all laugh. “Today we have come together to witness the joining of these two lives. For them, out of the routine of ordinary life, the extraordinary has happened. They met each other, fell in love and are finalizing it with their wedding.” He continues. I look at Mycroft and grin. He smiles back. “A good marriage must be created. It is never being too old to hold hands. It’s remembering to say I love you every day and it is not just marrying the right person its being the right partner.” He says. “Now I know Mycroft and Calliah have written their own vows, so Mycroft.”

I look at Mycroft and smile. “So I’m not the best with talking, but with you I never have a problem. You were the shining light in this bland world filled with goldfish.” Mycroft starts to say. I giggle and hear Sherlock laugh. “When I helped you get off the streets, I didn’t know I was letting you into my heart. I never thought I would get married, I even told mummy that no one deserves to put up with me. I still believe this, but I won’t argue you when you say that you do.” I start tearing up. “I actually looked up romantic vows so I could say something that you would remember for the rest of your life, but they all were bland. So I just want to say that I will cherish you and make you feel like you are the most amazing woman in the world. You are and always will be my Ardaigh.” Mycroft finishes. I hear some sniffles in the crowd and I grin as I dry my tears.

“Okay Calliah.” The preacher says.

“Well, I hope I can top that.” I say and giggle. “Mycroft Holmes. I never thought I would ever get married either, I always believed that I wasn’t worthy of anyone. You changed my whole life and turned it on its side. I believed that I was ugly, stupid, and a hindrance to everyone. Well, you changed my mind on the ugly and hindrance part. I still feel stupid compared to you and Sherlock.” Mycroft rolls his eyes. “Just kidding, everyone knows I’m the smart one.” I hear laughing from Mummy Holmes and Molly.” I look at Mycroft in the eyes. “They day I met you, I thought you were some stuck up government worker who was putting his nose somewhere it doesn’t belong, but you didn’t just save me from the street, you saved my life and continue to do every day. You are and will always be my Croft.”

“Time for the vows. Mycroft. Do you take Calliah to be your wife?” The preacher asks.

“I do.” Mycroft says and winks at me.

“Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect her, forsaking others and holding only unto her?” The preacher asks.

“I do.” Mycroft says and I grin.

“Calliah, do you take Mycroft to be your husband?” The preacher asks and looks at me.

“I do.” I say.

“Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect her, forsaking others and holding only unto her?” The preacher asks.

“I do.” I say.

“Wedding rings are an unbroken circle of love, signifying to all union of this couple in marriage. Can we have the rings?” The preacher asks. Mycroft looks at Sherlock. Sherlock brings them over and then retreats back. “Mycroft, repeat after me and place the ring on Calliah’s finger. Calliah, This ring is my sacred gift…”

“Calliah, this ring is my sacred gift…” Mycroft repeats.

“….with my promise that I will always love you…” The preacher continues.

“…with my promise that I will always love you….” Mycroft repeats.

“…cherish you and honor you all the days of my life…” The preacher continues.

“…cherish you and honor you all the days of my life…” Mycroft repeats.

“…and with this ring, I thee wed.” The preacher finishes.

“…and with this ring, I thee wed.” Mycroft says and places the ring on my finger.

“Okay Calliah, repeat after me and place the ring on Mycroft’s finger. Mycroft, This ring is my sacred gift…” The preacher starts.

“Mycroft, this ring is my sacred gift…” I repeats.

“….with my promise that I will always love you…” The preacher continues.

“…with my promise that I will always love you….” I repeats.

“…cherish you and honor you all the days of my life…” The preacher continues.

“…cherish you and honor you all the days of my life…” I repeats.

“…and with this ring, I thee wed.” The preacher finishes.

“…and with this ring, I thee wed.” I says and places the ring on Mycroft’s finger.

“By the power vested in me I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. You may kiss your bride.” The preacher says. Mycroft pulls me into his arms and kisses me. I kiss back and wrap my arms around him. “I present to you our happy couple.” Everyone claps and I giggle.

Later we are in the banquet hall. It was a small room and has one table and a dance floor. We didn’t want anything big. I don’t like crowds and Mycroft is a personal person. We were all sitting and eating. Mycroft and I were at the end on the table, Molly on the side by me. Greg was by her and then Mummy and Daddy Holmes. On the other side, Sherlock was sitting closest to Mycroft. John was next to Sherlock, then Mary and then Mrs. Hudson. It was a small get together and I wouldn’t want it any way else. We finish dinner and then Sherlock stands up.

“If I could get your attention. Since Mycroft didn’t have a best man, I will fill in.” Sherlock says. I hear Mycroft groan next to me. I place my hand on his and grin. “When I found out that Calliah and Mycroft were dating, my first thought was ‘Was Calliah smart enough to keep Mycroft entertained?’ and then my next thought was ‘Why did Calliah want to be with Mycroft, he is a bore’.” Sherlock says. I roll my eyes and kiss Mycroft’s cheek. “Well I thought about those questions and the answers came to me last night. Of course Calliah was smart enough. Like she said she is the smart one. In a sense. Calliah experiences things with emotion and thinks about people’s feelings. She took my brother and made him care about something other than the British Government. I think I speak for all of us and saw, thank you Calliah.” Sherlock says.

I get up and go over and hug Sherlock. “Thank you Sherlock.” I say softly. He hugs back. He sits down as I go back to my seat. Molly stands up and smiles softly.

“So, I’ve known Calliah for a while. We went to school together and then got our jobs together. I knew her before she met Mycroft and I can tell you that Mycroft has saved Calliah. She has become an amazing woman with Mycroft’s help and has become confidence and has come out of her shell. She is the sister I never had, the best friend I always wanted, and the woman I admire most. I love you Calliah and Mycroft you had better treat her right because I know how to dice people up.” She says and I chuckle.

“Don’t try to be funny Molly.” Sherlock says.

“It was funny.” I tell him as Molly sits down.

“Only to you two.” Sherlock says.

“That’s all that matters.” I say and stick my tongue out.

“All right kids.” John says and rolls his eyes.

“Not even brother and sister an hour and you are already bickering.” Mummy Holmes says.

“This is how they act all the time.” John informs her.

“Oh whatever.” I say and roll my eyes.

“To the happy couple.” Mrs. Hudson says and raises her glass.

“To the happy couple.” They all reply and raise their glasses. Mycroft and I raise ours and kiss softly. I giggle.

“Sherlock, is it time for our first dance?” I ask.

He nods and gets up and goes to the side and gets out his violin and gets set up. Mycroft stands up and holds out his hand. I slip my shoes back on and grab his hand. He helps me up and leads me to the dance floor. Sherlock starts playing his violin and Mycroft and I start dancing. I lean my head on Mycroft’s chest and he holds me. I grin and feel a kiss on my head. We finish the dance and everyone claps. We smile and Molly puts on some music. Mycroft and I sit down and everyone else gets up and dances. Mrs. Hudson was doing some type of dance by herself, Mummy and Daddy Holmes dancing and being cute, John and Mary were dancing and laughing, and Molly got Sherlock to dance with her, even though I knew he wouldn’t protest much. I lean back into Mycroft and he wraps his arms around me. “Mrs. Holmes.” I say softly and giggle.

That night we got to our hotel room, the penthouse, and we ‘danced’ a little and enjoyed a nice night in. We went to New York City for the honeymoon and saw some plays, which Mycroft was starting to like, we shopped, and just acted like newlyweds.


	35. Chapter 35

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the wedding!**

**I own nothing, except Calliah and my ideas.**

I was sitting at home. Mycroft was at work. He had been working more than usual. The wedding was five months ago and he hadn't been around as much. Most nights I would sit at home alone watching TV. John and Mary were planning their wedding and Sherlock was helping. I felt like I was always in the way when I went over there. So I didn't go over. I talked to Mary sometimes but not as much. I would go to work and talk to Molly but she would just be talking about Tom her new boyfriend person. I was happy with her but she was obsessed about him. I would sit at home and watch movies and most nights I would fall asleep on the couch waiting up for Mycroft to come home. When I woke I would be in bed but Mycroft would be gone. I was getting lonely and going back into my shell.

I was sitting on the couch, watching Doctor Who, when the door opens. I look over and see Mycroft. I grin and go over to him and hug him. He hugs back briefly and then starts walking to the kitchen. "You're home." I say as I follow him. He nods and reheats some of the chicken I made for dinner.

"I'm only staying to eat. I have to go back to work and won't be home till tomorrow." Mycroft tells me.

I frown and cross my arms. "What? Why?"

"My job needs me Calliah." Mycroft says and sits at the table.

"What about your wife that needs you?" I ask.

"Calliah. I have a serious job and I have an important case to do at the moment. I can't always be here. You knew that when you married me." Mycroft says and starts to eat.

"I know I did but I didn't think that it would mean that I would barely see you for five months. I miss you..." I say.

Mycroft sighs and looks at me. "I have to get back to work." He says and gets up.

"You didn't finish eating..." I say softly.

"Not hungry." Mycroft says and leaves. I frown and try not to cry. I should be use to this by now.

Maybe he was having an affair. No. Mycroft wasn't one to cheat. I think. I shake my head and clean up the plate. I go back my Doctor Who and fall asleep on the couch again.

I wake up the next morning still on the couch. So he was out all night. I sigh and start clean the house. I don't know why since I was the only here but it gave me something to get my mind off everything. Lately I have been feeling the same way I did at when I was with Irene, worthless, stupid, and more. I felt like Mycroft was always at work because he didn't want to be home with me. I finish cleaning and go to the bedroom. I go to the bathroom and get out my make-up bag. I start looking for my lip gloss when I see my eye pencil sharpener. It had a blade of it. I haven't cut in a while but the blade was calling to me. I needed to get my mind off everything and the blade would help. I get the blade out of the sharpener. I sit on the toilet and look at the blade. Maybe just one small cut. Just to forget a little. I move up my shirt sleeve and make a small cut. I breathe in and grin. I close my eyes and feel myself calming down. I open my eyes and make another cut. I grin and watch the blood roll down my arm. I grin and clean it up. I grin and put my blade back. That helped me. I get up and put my make-up bag back and go get dressed for work.

After work, I stop by Sherlock’s flat. "Hello Sherlock!" I say as I walk in.

"Calliah? What are you doing here?" Sherlock asks.

"I just wanted to stop by and see how you are doing. I haven't seen you in a while." I say.

"Oh. Well I'm fine. Thanks for stopping by." Sherlock say.

"Oh. Okay. Bye." I say and leave. Maybe I can go to johns for a little. I take out my phone and call Mary.

"Hello doll." I hear as she answers the phone.

"Hello Mary. I was wondering if I could come over for a visit." I ask

"Oh. Well John was going to take me out tonight. You can join if you want." Mary says

Be a third wheel yeah no. "Um I'll pass. Thanks though. I'll talk to you soon." I say and hang up. Molly had plans so I wasn't going to try her. I sigh and head home. When I get home I see my Mycroft's car out front. I grin and rush inside. "Croft?" I call out. I rush to the bedroom and see Mycroft packing. I frown and stop. "Were are you going?" I ask.

"The prime minister wants me to go to America for a week." Mycroft explains.

"A week?" I ask and go and sit on the bed. "Am I going too?"

"No." Mycroft says and shuts his bag. "It isn't a vacation Calliah."

"I know but we haven't been seeing each other and well I thought..." I start to say.

"Just thought you would tag along and be a bother." Mycroft interrupts.

I tear up. "You think I'm a bother?" I ask.

"Sometimes." Mycroft says and starts heading out.

"Are you having an affair?" I call out.

Mycroft turns around. "God Calliah. You are so ignorant. I'm not having an affair. I'm working. I'll be back in a week." Mycroft says and leaves. I curl up and cry myself to sleep.

The next day I wake up and sit up and look around. “Mycro-“ I start to say before I remember that he was gone. I sigh and lay back down. I didn’t feel like getting up or do anything so I called Molly and told her I was taking a day off.

I laid in bed for a couple hours, just staring at the wall. I was thinking about Mycroft and why he was always gone. I get up and go to the bathroom and when I was washing my hands I see my make-up bag. I stare at it and bite my lip. Should I? I shouldn’t… I shake my head and grab my blade and go back to bed. I lay on my side and place the blade on the bed in front on me. I stare at it. I shouldn’t do it but I needed to stop thinking so much. I needed to relieve my mind of all the thoughts and needed quite. I move my arm out and pull up my sleeve. I see the scars from the last time. I grab my blade and slowly run the blade over my arm and grin. I watch the blood flow down my arm. I do it a couple more times and lay on my back. I let the calmness roll over my body and I can finally not think. I close my eyes and end up falling asleep.

I wake up to my phone ringing. I groan and move my arm to get my phone and I feel pain. “Shit!” I yell and look down. The blood had dried on my arm and some had got on the bed. Shit. I roll over and grab my phone and answer it without looking at the ID. “Ello?”

“Why aren’t you at work?” I hear.

“Wait, who is this?” I ask.

“It’s Sherlock. I came to talk to you and you aren’t here.” He says.

“Yeah, I took a sick day.” I tell him and stand up. I remove the blanket and start taking it to the washer.

“I’m coming over.” He tells me.

I freeze. “W-What? No.”

“I’m almost there. Unlock the door so I can just come in.” Sherlock says.

“Okay…” I say and hang up. I run and put the blanket into the wash and start it. I run to the bathroom and wash my arm off. I close my eyes at the pain but I get over it. I dry it off and roll my sleeve down. I run and unlock the door and go to the living room and start a Doctor Who episode. I pant as I slow my breathing down. I needed to seem calm and normal. Sherlock will discover that I am cutting again and will tell Mycroft. I don’t want to be more of a hindrance. I hear the front door open and I look over to see Sherlock. I smile. “Hey Sherlock.”

He walks over and sits by me. “Where is Mycroft?”

“America.” I say and look at the TV.

“Why? And why aren’t you with him?” Sherlock asks.

“Oh, I needed to stay here.” I say and shrug.

“So you can stay home and do what?” Sherlock asks.

“I just wasn’t all good today. I wasn’t thinking right and knew I wouldn’t get any work done if I went to work.” I tell him, still not looking at him.

“Are you sleeping with someone else?” He asks.

I turn to him and glare. “How dare you even ask that!?” I yell.

He looks at me and nods. “Had to check. You never not work.”

“I just needed some me time.” I tell him and frown. I look back at the TV.

“What is going on?” Sherlock asks.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Mycroft and you.” Sherlock says.

“Nothing is going on.” I lie.

“Lie.” He says.

I sigh and bring my knees to my chest. “I have no idea, Sherlock. When we got back from our honeymoon, Mycroft went to work and then hasn’t stopped. He is never home…” I say softly. I tear up and look away.

“He is never home?” Sherlock asks.

“Just forget it Sherlock.” I say and wipe my eyes and look at him. “What did you want?”

He looks at me. “Calliah, what is wrong?” He asks softly.

“Nothing. What did you want?” I ask and look down.

“Um… can you help me with my best man speech?” He asks.

“Why me?” I ask.

“Well, John just said to not embarrass him. Mary said to speak from the heart. Molly said to not be myself. I don’t know what to write. Your vows were good so maybe you could help.” He explains.

“Well, do what Mary said. Speak from your heart.” I tell him.

“How?” He asks.

“Um, well tell people what John means to you and how happy you are for the couple. You did at my wedding so yeah.” I say.

“Okay.” He says and nods. “Would like to have lunch with me? Get you out of the house?”

“Um… sure.” I say and stand up.

Sherlock stands and we leave. We go to Angelo’s and have lunch. We eat in comfortable silence. We leave the restaurant. “I should get back…” I say softly.

He turns me to him. “Calliah, if you need to talk, come to me okay?”

“Yeah, I will.” I say and hug him softly. I go back home and move the blanket from the bed from the washer to the dryer. I sit on the couch and sigh. I lay down and watch Doctor Who.

It was three months after that day, and also John’s wedding day. I was going to pick up Sherlock and then we were going to the wedding together. Mycroft said that he was too busy and didn’t need to be there and then went into his office at home. I knock on the door and hear Mycroft tell me to come in. I walk in. “I’m leaving now.”

“Fine. Good.” Mycroft says, not looking up.

“D-Did I do something wrong?” I ask.

“What?” Mycroft asks and looks up. He freezes for a moment and then looks back down.

“Did I do something wrong? To make you mad?” I ask and move closer to the desk.

“No. Just go Calliah.” He says softly. I nod and leave.

I get to Sherlock’s flat and go up and hear the violin. I go in and see Sherlock practicing dancing. I smile and go to sit down, when he grabs me and starts twirling around. “No.” I say and laugh. “Sherlock.” He doesn’t let me go and so we keep dancing. After the song end, he bows to me and I curtsy. He looks over at someone and I turn and see Mrs. Hudson smiling.

“Shut up, Mrs. Hudson.” He says.

“I haven’t said a word.” She says.

“You’re formulating a question. It’s physically painful watching you thinking.” Sherlock says.

“I thought it was you playing.” Mrs. Hudson comments.

Sherlock gestures to a music player on the dining table. “It was me playing.” He says and picks up the remote control, switches off the music play and bends down to make a notation on the sheet music lying on the table. “I am composing.”

Mrs. Hudson puts a tray onto the table beside John’s chair. “You two were dancing.”

“I was road-testing and Calliah happened to be here.” Sherlock says. I nod and sit down. I was just there.

“You what?” Mrs. Hudson asks.

Sherlock throws down his pen and turns to her. “Why are you here?”

“I’m bring you your morning tea.” Mrs. Hudson explains. She pours some milk into the teacups. “You’re not usually awake.”

Sherlock sits down into his chair. “You bring me tea in the morning?”

Mrs. Hudson pours the tea. “Well, where d’you think it came from?!”

“I don’t know. I just thought it sort of happened.” Sherlock says.

“Your mother has a lot to answer for.” Mrs. Hudson says. She hands me a cup and saucer. I nod to her. She brings a cup and saucer to Sherlock.

“Mm, I know. I have a list. Mycroft has a file.” He says. I frown and look at my hands. I wish Mycroft was here.

Mrs. Hudson looks at me. “Where is Mycroft?”

“Um… working.” I say softly. I look up and see they were both frowning at me.

“That’s too bad dear.” Mrs. Hudson says. I can hear the pity in her voice and I look down. I didn’t want pity. God I hate this.

I get up. “I’ll be back.” I say and go to the bathroom. I get my blade out of my bag and frown. I didn’t want to use it today, but I was going to be pitied all day. I would be asked where Mycroft was and then when I say working, they will give me their sad pity eyes and I can’t take it! I sit down and move my skirt up some. I make a four cuts and close my eyes. Calmness was rushing through me. I look down and grin. I had been cutting more often but it helped. I felt better and was going to be okay. I clean up and put my blade back. I look in the mirror and smile. I go out and see Mrs. Hudson sitting in John’s chair. I go over to the couch and sit.

“Mmm. Anyway, you’ve got things to do.” Sherlock was saying.

“No, not really. I’ve got plenty of time to…” Mrs. Hudson says.

“Biscuits.” Sherlock interrupts sternly.

Mrs. Hudson gets out of the chair, tutting. She walks towards the door. “I really am going to have a word with your mother.”

“You can if you like. She understands very little.” Sherlock says and closes the door on her. He turns and sighs. He looks towards John’s chair and then me. He frowns and sits by me. “You okay?”

“Mummy Holmes is very smart.” I say, not wanting to talk about me or Mycroft.

“I know but that isn’t what I asked. What’s wrong?” Sherlock says.

“You should go get ready.” I say. He sighs and shakes his head. He places a hand on my knee and then goes to his room.

Church bells peal and Mary and John, newly married, walk out of the church. I sit there and wait for everyone to leave. Greg sees me and walks over. “Come on Calliah.” He holds out his hand. I take it and he helps me up. We leave the church and the photographer wants a photo. Sherlock and John pull me over for a photo with them. I smile as the photographer takes the photo. Sherlock and I walk away so John can take more photos. The bridesmaid comes over to us.

“The famous Mr. Holmes! I’m very pleased to meet you. But no sex, okay?” She says.

Sherlock looks startled. “Um, sorry?”

She starts laughing. “You don’t have to look so scared. I’m only messing. Bridesmaid, best man… It’s a bit traditional.” She says and gently punches his arm. “Anyways, I see you brought a date.” She looks at me and holds out her hand. “I’m Janine.”

“Oh, I’m not his date. I’m Calliah Holmes, his sister-in-law.” I explain and shake her hand.

“Oh, where if your husband? I would love to meet the brother of Sherlock.” Janine says.

“He’s at home. Work commitment.” I explains and then see Janine give me the pity eyes.

“Sorry about that.” She says. I shrug and look away. I feel Sherlock look at me.

“Well, Janine, if you are looking for that sort of thing…” Sherlock says and jerks his head towards one of the wedding guests. “…the man over there in blue is your best bet. Recently divorced doctor with a ginger cat, a barn conversion, and a history of erectile dysfunction.” Sherlock blinks. “Reviewing that information, possibly not your best bet.”

“Yeah, maybe not.” Janine says.

Sherlock looks puzzled. “Sorry – there was one more deduction there than I was expecting.”

“Mr. Holmes…” Janie starts to say. She takes his arm. “…you’re going to be incredibly useful.” Sherlock looks down at her hand and frowns. I slowly move away and sit on a bench close by. I watch as Sherlock walks by Mary and John, who were thanking people for coming as they go into the banquet. I see a man walk up and freeze up when he sees Sherlock. He waves briefly to Mary and John looks round at Sherlock with a curious expression. More people go through. A young kid, who was the page boy, runs straight to Sherlock and hugs his arms around him, smiling happily. Sherlock looks awkwardly down at him. A woman comes over and they start talking. Sherlock pats the young boy’s head. Sherlock unwraps the boy from around him and gently pushes him towards the entrance. The boy and the woman go in. I get up and sigh. I should get in there. I go up and Mary hugs me.

“Oh, Calliah. I’m so happy you came.” She says and I hug her back. I put on my fake smile and look at her.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I say and John hugs me. I hug back and then go inside. I drop the smile and find my seat. I was sitting next to Molly and Greg. Oh good. More people to pity me and for me to have to pretend to be happy around. I sit down as Molly canoodles with Tom, her boyfriend. She was repeatedly kissing his cheek. Tom indicated that the photographer is approaching us, and she turns and smiles into the camera while he takes some pictures. Molly makes me take a photo with her and so I smile my fake smile.

“Nice.” The photographer says and moves on. I drop the smile and look around. A lot of people. I’m glad. I see John and Mary stand around. Sherlock and Janine were standing together a short distance away from John and Mary. I get up and start walking over.

“Can I keep you?” I hear Janine say.

“D’you like solving crimes?” Sherlock asks.

“Do you have a vacancy?” Janine asks. Sherlock’s eyes drift over to John and then sees me. He smiles and pulls me over.

“Look its Calliah.” Sherlock says.

“Hi. Molly was being all couple-ly with Tom, so I thought I would join you.” I tell him.

He nods and Janine looks around. “I’m going to find some more guys for you to tell me about.” She walks away.

Sherlock puts a hand on my lower back and leads me to Mary. “So that’s him. Major Sholto.” He says to Mary. His voice sounds disapproving.

“Uh-huh.” Mary says and smiles at me.

Sherlock narrows his eyes as he looks at John and Major Sholto. “If they’re such good friends, why does he barely even mention him?”

“He mentions him all the time to me. He never shuts up about him.” Mary says.

“About him?” Sherlock says.

“Mm-hmm.” Mary says. She takes a drink from her wine glass, then grimaces. “Urgh, I chose this wine. It’s bloody awful.”

“Yes, but it’s definitely him that he talks about.” Sherlock says.

“Mm-hmm.” Mary says.

“I’ve never even heard him say his name. Did you ever hear his name Calliah?” Sherlock asks. I shake my head. He frowns slightly at me.

“Well, he’s almost a recluse – you know, since…” Mary says.

“Yes.” Sherlock says.

“I didn’t think he’s show up at all. John says he’s the most unsociable man he’s ever met.” Mary says.

“He is? He’s the most unsociable?” Sherlock asks. I could tell that Sherlock was jealous.

“Mm.” Mary says.

“Ah, that’s why he’s bouncing round him like a puppy.” Sherlock says.

Mary grins and hugs his arm. “Oh, Sherlock! Neither of us were the first, you know.”

Sherlock looks round at her. “Stop smiling.”

“It’s my wedding day!” Mary says.

Sherlock rolls his eyes and pulls free. “Come on Calliah.” We walk away.

We walk through the reception room and Sherlock pulls out his phone and presses a speed dial. “Why are you out of breath?.... Either I’ve caught you in a compromising position or you’ve been working out again. Since your wife is here and you haven’t even seen much of her since the wedding, I favour the latter.” I frown and look down. Why was he calling Mycroft. “I need your answer, Mycroft, as a matter of urgency… Even at the eleventh hour it’s not too late, you know. Calliah really wants you here…Cars can be ordered, private jets commandeered…What a shame. Mary and John will be extremely d…Well Calliah will be crushed… I might find her a very hot dance partner that she can have fun with…” I frown and shake my head. He looks at me and frowns. He hands me the phone. I move away and put the phone against my ear.

“Yes?” I say softly.

“Calliah… I… Don’t dance with anyone.” He says.

“Why Mycroft? Don’t I deserve a little fun?” I ask.

“Don’t dance with anyone Calliah!” he says a little angrily.

I tear up and close my eyes. “Mycroft, I don’t know if I can keep doing this. I need you. I wish I could say thing in front of you but I can’t.” I start crying.

“Calliah…” He starts to say.

“No, Mycroft. I need you. I need you to be here. If you don’t come, I will move out.” I say and wipe my eyes.

He sighs. “Calliah… I… I can’t…”

“Then I am moving out. I can’t do this anymore. Please come. I love you but I need you to love me. I need you to stop ignoring me.” I sniffle and look at Sherlock. He was looking at me. “I just need my husband.”

He sighs again and I close my eyes. “I love you too Calliah.” He says softly. I hand Sherlock the phone and rush to the bathroom. I sit in the stall and start sobbing. I hear the door open and I try to stop but can’t.

“Calliah… Come out.” I hear Sherlock say.

I go out and frown. “This is the women’s bathroom.” I say and wipe my eyes.

“I don’t care. Why didn’t you tell me how bad it is?” Sherlock asks. “I know you’ve been cutting again.”

“Sherlock…. It helps…” I say and close my eyes.

I feel Sherlock hugging me. “Oh Calliah…”

“Is he coming?” I ask softly, after I get my crying under control.

“I’m not sure flower. I hope.” He says. I nod. “We need to get out there soon. Do you want me to stay?”

“No. I’m going to do my make-up again and then I’ll be out there.” I tell him.

He holds out his hand. “I want your blade.” I sigh and give it to him.

“Happy?” I ask and frown.

“Ecstatic.” He says and leaves.

I sigh and look into the mirror. My face wasn’t red or anything. I could do my make-up and be good. I wash my face off and look up. I sigh. My marriage might be ending tonight. I might have to get divorced. Oh god. I close my eyes and try not to cry again. I sigh and start doing my make-up. After I finish, after taking thirty minutes, I go out and start walking to the reception.

“Calliah.” I hear behind me and see Mycroft.

“Mycroft.” I say softly. He walks over and kisses me.

After we get done snogging, he leads me to a side room. “Sherlock is making his best man speech in there…” I say.

“We need to talk more than hear Sherlock give his speech.” Mycroft says. I nod. We sit down and he takes my hands. “I have been the worst husband.”

“Close to it.” I say.

“What?” He asks.

“Close to the worst husband.” I explain.

He nods. “Yes. I know I have been. I told my job about you and they weren’t happy. They said that it was something that could be used against me and I wasn’t the guy they thought who would get married. So, to prove that I was still the same man I have been, I took on a lot of work… which was stupid of me.”

“Yes.” I say.

“I know that I have been away for a long time and I know you have been lonely, and it all changes now.” Mycroft says.

“How do I know that is true?” I ask.

“You just have to trust me. I have never lied to you Calliah. I swear I will be better. Please don’t leave me.” Mycroft practically begs.

I sigh and look at him. “I won’t leave the house, but if it goes back to the way it was, I will leave without any warning.” I say.

He nods and kisses me. “I won’t.”

I look down and sigh. “Um… I should tell you something…”

“What is it?” Mycroft ask and brings my head up to look at him.

“I’ve…. Been…. Um, cutting again…” I say softly and look away.

I hear him sigh. “Oh Ardaigh….” He says and brings me into his arms. I start crying. He hasn’t called me Ardaigh since the wedding. I missed the term. He pulls me to his lap and holds me. “I’m so sorry love. I will be a better husband. You will never have to feel this way anymore. I swear.” He says.

“I hope so. I can’t live without you…” I say and look up at him.

“I can’t either. This has been hell for me. Seeing you in this dress almost killed me. I wanted to get up and snog you into next week.” He says and kisses my neck. I giggle and he does it again. “Want to go upstairs?”

“Oh God yes.” I say and we run up the stairs.

We come back down, after our quick ‘dance’, and I was trying to get my hair looking okay. I giggle and look at him. He smiles and kisses my head. “Let’s go into the room. Mary made sure to put an extra space at our table, in case you showed up.” I say and we slowly go into the room as Sherlock was saying:

“But we want something… very particular for this special day, don’t we?” He looks down at his phone and then raises his eyes again. He catches my eyes and winks. “The Bloody Guardsman.” 


	36. Chapter 36

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the first part of The Sign of Three**

**I own nothing, except Calliah and my ideas.**

_I was bored at home alone, so I had gone to Sherlock's flat to see that John's and Mary's wedding has taken over. Sherlock sees me and smiles. "Calliah! Where have you been?"_

" _Probably enjoying marriage life." Mary says. She was sitting at the dining table and John was sitting in his armchair, looking at me._

_I shrug. No one needed to know that I had been alone since the honeymoon. "Oh yes. Sorry guys." I say and go sit down in Sherlock's armchair._

_Sherlock follows me with his eyes, then goes back to looking at his information wall behind the sofa. "Need to work on your half of the church, Mary. Looking a bit thin."_

_Mary smiles. "Ah, orphan's lot. Friends – that's all I have. Lots of friends." She explains._

" _Schedule the organ music to begin at precisely 11.48." Sherlock says._

" _But the rehearsal's not for another two weeks. Just calm down." Mary says._

" _Calm? I am calm. I'm extremely calm." Sherlock says. I chuckle slightly. I stop for a moment. That was the first time I had smiled or laughed since Mycroft and I got back._

" _Let's get back to the reception, come on." Mary says. Sherlock walks to the table. Mary hands his an RSVP card. "John's cousin. Top table?"_

_Sherlock looks at the card. "Hmmm. Hates you. Can't even bear to think about you."_

_Mary looks up at Sherlock. "Seriously?"_

" _Second class post, cheap card…" Sherlock says and sniffs it, then grimaces. "…bought at a petrol station. Look at the stamp: three attempts at licking. She's obviously unconsciously retaining saliva."_

" _Ah." Mary says. She looks over her shoulder to John. "Let's stick her by the bogs."_

" _Oh yes." Sherlock says and sits down._

_Mary leans closer to him. "Who else hates me?" She asks. Instantly Sherlock hands her a sheet of paper. I'm guessing that it the list of people who hate her. It's a long list. I giggle and Sherlock looks over at me. "Oh great – thanks."_

" _Priceless painting nicked. Looks interesting." John says. I look over and see he is on his phone._

" _Calliah, do you want to sit at the top table?" Mary looks over at me._

_I look at her. "Me?"_

" _Well, yes. You are like John's sister." Mary says and smiles._

_I look round and see that they all are staring at me. I look down. "Um, no. I can just sit at the table that Molly is at. Put someone who is important up there."_

" _You are i-" John starts to say._

" _Is Mycroft coming?" Sherlock asks, interrupting John._

" _Probably not." I say softly and play with my wedding band._

" _We'll leave a spot open for him, just in case." Mary says. I nod. She turns back to the table. "Table four…" She says softly. I knew I shouldn't have come over._

" _Done." Sherlock says. I knew he was still looking at me._

_John chuckles at something and I look over. He was looking at his phone. "'My husband is three people.'"_

" _Table five." Mary says._

_I look over to them. Sherlock was looking at a list. "Major James Sholto. Who's he?"_

" _Oh, John's old commanding officer. I don't think he's coming." Mary says._

" _He'll be there." John says._

" _Well, he needs to RSVP, then." Mary says._

" _He'll be there." John says firmly._

" _Mmm…" Mary says._

"' _My husband is three people.' It's interesting. Says he has three distinct patterns of moles on his skin." John says._

_Sherlock stands up. "Identical triplets – one in half a million births. Solved it without leaving the flat. Now, serviettes." He squats down beside the coffee flat, reaches under it and pulls out a tray with two serviettes folded into different shapes. He gestures to them as he looks up at Mary. "Swan, or Sydney Opera House?"_

" _Where'd you learn to do that?" Mary asks._

_Sherlock looks down. "Many unexpected skills required in the field of criminal investigation…"_

" _Fibbing, Sherlock." Mary says._

" _I once broke an alibi by demonstrating the exact severity of…" Sherlock starts._

" _I'm not John or Calliah. I can tell when you're fibbing." I chuckle. Good someone would be able to call him on his bullshit._

" _Okay – I learned it on YouTube." Sherlock says exasperated. He was on YouTube. Oh God._

" _Opera House, please." Mary says. She leans to one side and reaches into her trouser pocket. "Ooh, hang on. I'm buzzing." She takes out her phone and lifts it to her ear. "Hello?... Oh, hi, Beth!" She gets up and goes to the kitchen. "Yeah, yeah, don't see why not."_

_John stands up and looks at Sherlock. "Actually, if that's Beth, it's probably for me too. Hang on." Sherlock sits down on the floor cross-legged and faces the coffee table._

" _Calliah, come help." He says._

" _Oh, no. I'll be fine." I say. I would ruin it._

" _Calliah. Come here. Please." Sherlock says. I sigh and go over to him and sit by him. He shows me how to do the folding. After a little, he slows down. "I don't want him to get married. It's going to change everything."_

" _No it won't." I say, concentrating on my work._

" _It changed you." He says._

_I stop and look at him. "It did?"_

" _Yes. This is the first time you have been since the wedding. Mycroft hasn't been home and yet you don't come over. It will happen to John too. I'll be alone again, Calliah." Sherlock explains._

_I frown and hug him. "Oh, Sherlock. I'm sorry. I didn't think about other people. I've been selfish. I'll come over more. I promise." I say. I'll just have to fake my smile a little more._

_He nods and we get back to work. We hear John come in. We turn around and he sees that there was ten serviettes on the table and twenty or more on the floor. "That just sort of… happened." Sherlock says._

_John frowns, then smiles. Glancing back into the kitchen for a moment, John walks towards us. "Sherlock, Calliah, um…" Sherlock stands up and helps me. "…mates…" He frowns briefly. "I-I've…" He walks over to the dining table. Sherlock glances towards the kitchen where Mary was talking on the phone. Sherlock leads me to the table and he sits down. I stand by the end. "I've smelled eighteen different perfumes; I've sampled…" He stops. "…nine different slices of cake which all tasted identical;" Mycroft and I tasted twenty. I think Mycroft just wanted cake. "I like the bridesmaids in purple…"_

" _Lilac." Sherlock interrupts._

"… _lilac. Um, there are no more decisions left to make. I don't even understand the decisions that we have made. I'm faking opinions and it's exhausting, so please, before she comes back…" John continues on and glances towards the kitchen, activates his phone, clears his throat and holds his phone across the table. "…pick something." I look down and see that it was Sherlock's 'Science of Deduction' website. Sherlock's eyes flicker down to the screen a couple of times. "Anything. Pick one."_

" _Pick what?" Sherlock asks._

_John blinks a few times and then laughs. "A case. Your inbox is bursting. Just… get me out of here."_

_Sherlock kneels down. "You want to go out on a case? N-now?" Sherlock ask, speaking quietly._

" _Please, Sherlock, for me." John says._

_Sherlock takes the phone. "Don't you worry about a thing. I'll get you out of this." He starts to flick through messages on his website. After only a few seconds he finds something of interest. "Oh." Sherlock "Dear Mr Holmes, My name is Bainbridge. I'm a Private in Her Majesty's Household Guard. I'm writing to you about a personal matter, one I don't care to bring before my superiors – it would sound so trivial – but I think someone's stalking me. I'm used to tourists – it's part of the job – but this is different. Someone's watching me. He's taking pictures of me every day. Don't want to mention it to the major, but it's really preying on my mind." Sherlock reads off. "Uniform fetishist. 'All the nice girls like a soldier'."_

" _It's sailor." John corrects him. "And Bainbridge thinks his stalker is a bloke. Sherlock looks at the phone again. "Let's go and investigate. Please?"_

_Sherlock was reading still. "'Elite Guard'."_

" _Forty enlisted men and officers." John explains._

" _Why this particular Grenadier? Curious." Sherlock says._

" _Now you're talking." John says._

_Sherlock hands John his phone back. "Okay." We stand up and start walking towards the door just as Mary comes back into the room with her phone at her ear._

"' _Bye." Mary says into the phone._

" _Er, we're just going to… I need, um, Sherlock and Calliah to help me choose some, er, socks." John lies._

"… _ties." Sherlock says simultaneously._

_Mary looks at them. "Why don't we go with socks?"_

" _Yeah." John say._

" _I mean, you've got to get the right ones." Mary says._

" _Exactly – to go with my…" John starts to say._

_Sherlock says "…tie." The same time John says, "…outfit."_

_Mary looks at John. "That'll take a while, right?"_

_John points towards the kitchen. "My coat in there?"_

" _Yes!" Mary says._

_He walks into the kitchen and Mary and Sherlock walk closer together. "Just going to take him out for a bit – run him." Sherlock tells her quietly._

" _I know." Mary says. Sherlock smiles at her. "You said you'd find him a case!"_

" _Mm." Sherlock says._

" _Come on, Sherlock and Calliah." John says from the kitchen._

" _Coming." Sherlock says. He pulls me and goes to the living room door, then turns back to face Mary. I look at him as he does a double thumbs-up at her. I roll my eyes and go down the stairs. The boys follow me and we go out. Sherlock finishes putting his coat on and calls out to an approaching cab. "Taxi!"_

_We get to the gates of the barracks and see Bainbridge on duty. We go to a bench that is on the other side of the road and a few yards away._

" _Do you think they give them classes?" Sherlock asks._

" _Classes?" John asks._

" _How to resist the temptation to scratch their behinds?" Sherlock asks. I giggle softly._

" _Afferent neurons in the peripheral nervous system." John says. Sherlock and I turn our heads in John's direction. "Bum itch."_

" _Oh!" Sherlock says. We sit in silence. "So why don't you see him anymore?" At first I think he was asking me._

" _Who?" John asks._

" _Your previous commander, Sholto." Sherlock says and I take a deep breathe._

"' _Previous commander'." John says._

_Sherlock briefly closes his eyes awkwardly. "I meant 'ex'."_

"' _Previous' suggests that I currently have a commander." John says._

" _Which you don't." Sherlock says._

" _Which I don't." John says and smiles at me. I smile softly at him._

_Sherlock smiles a little. "'Course you don't. He was decorated, wasn't he? A war hero."_

" _Not to everyone. He led a team of crows into battle." John explains._

"' _Crows'?" Sherlock asks._

" _New recruits. It's standard procedure; break the new boys in – but it went wrong. They all died; he was the only survivor. The press and the families gave him hell. He gets more death threats than you." John explains. I frown._

" _Oh, I wouldn't count on that." Sherlock says. Sherlock gets death threats?_

" _Why have you suddenly taken an interest in another human being?" John asks._

" _I'm…chatting." Sherlock says. John raises his eyebrows and look round at Sherlock. Sherlock half-turns his head and looks at him out of the corner of his eye. Sherlock turns his head back to the front. "Won't be trying that again."_

" _Changing the subject completely ..." John says and pulls in a breath through his nose, then looks at Sherlock again. "... you know it won't alter anything, right, me and Mary, getting married? We'll still be doing all this. I mean look at Calliah, she is still here."_

_I'm mostly here. Part of me was dead. "Oh, good." Sherlock says and looks at me._

" _If you were worried." John says._

" _Wasn't worried." Sherlock says._

_John looks down and chuckles thoughtfully. Sherlock gets up and leave. I roll my eyes and stay where I was. "See, the thing about Mary – she has completely turned my life around; changed everything. But, for the record, over the last few years there are three people who have done that, Calliah and the other one is ..." He looks round and sees that Sherlock left. "…a complete dickhead." He looks at me and I smile softly at him. He sighs and gets up. I get up and we start walking into the building. We go to Major Reed's office. We sit down and John gives him his military ID._

" _Can I ask what this is in connection with?" Major Reed asks._

" _Private Bainbridge contacted us about a personal matter, sir." John says._

" _Nothing's personal when it concerns my troops. What do you really want?" Reed asks._

" _I'm here on a legitimate enquiry." John says._

" _Press? Digging for some bloody Royal story or something?" Reed asks._

_John points to his ID. "No, sir, I'm Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."_

" _Retired. You could be a used car salesman now, for all I know." Reed says. Major Reed looks closely at John. "I know you, don't I?"_

" _Hmm?" John asks._

_Reed tosses John's card across the table. John picks it up and puts it back into his wallet. "I've seen you two in the papers." John clears his throat uncomfortably and looks at me. "Hang around with that detective – the one with the silly hat. What the hell does Bainbridge want with a detective?"_

" _I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say." John says._

" _You're not at liberty to say?! He's a soldier in my regiment – I'll be damned if he's going to get up to cloak and dagger nonsense like this." Reed says._

_The duty sergeant hurries into the room. " Sir ..." He stops when he realizes that Reed isn't alone in the room. "Sir."_

" _What's going on?" Reed asks._

" _It's Bainbridge, sir. He's dead." The duty sergeant says. Looking horrified, Reed gets up and follows the sergeant out of the room. John looks at me and we hurry after them._

_We go to the shower room. Bainbridge is lying face down on the floor on a great deal of broken glass. There is a lot of blood on his lower back. The duty sergeant leads us in, and Reed hurries over to the body staring at it in shock._

" _My God!" Reed says._

_John sighs deeply at the sight. John and I start walking towards Bainbridge, but Reed holds up a hand to stop him. "Ah, no, let us look, sir. We're doctors."_

" _What? Sergeant, arrest these two." The duty sergeant takes hold of John's left arm and my right arm._

" _What? No-no! We're- we're doctors." John tries to explain._

" _Oh, you're a doctor now, too. Sergeant." Reed says and jerks his head towards the door._

" _Let us examine him, please!" John yells. The sergeant starts to pull us away but then another sergeant comes in, bundling Sherlock into the room. He has Sherlock's right arm twisted up behind his back._

" _Sir, caught this one snooping around." The sergeant says._

_Reed looks at John and me. "Is that what this what was about? Distracting me so that this man could get in here and kill Bainbridge?" He asks. I roll my eyes._

" _Don't be…" John says._

_Sherlock has pulled free of his sergeant and is walking forward to look more closely at the body. The sergeant follows him, taking hold of his arms and pulling him away again. "Kill him with what? Where's the weapon?"_

" _What?" Reed asks._

" _Where's the weapon? Go on, search me." Sherlock says and holds his arms wide. "No weapon."_

" _Bainbridge was on parade. He came off duty five minute ago. When's this supposed to have happened?" John asks._

" _You obviously stabbed him before he got into the shower." Reed says to Sherlock._

" _No." Sherlock says._

" _No?!" Reed asks._

" _He's soaking wet and there's still shampoo in his hair. He got into the shower and then someone stabbed him." Sherlock explains._

" _The cubicle was locked from the inside, sit. I had to break it open." The duty sergeant says._

" _You must have climbed over the top." Reed says._

" _Well then I'd be soaking wet too, wouldn't I?" Sherlock asks._

" _Major, please. I'm John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Three years in Afghanistan, a veteran of Kandahar, Helmand, and Bart's bloody Hospital. Let me and my associate examine this body." John says firmly. Reed looks down at the body for a long moment, then finally looks at the duty sergeant and nods sharply. The man releases John. "Thank you." He says and we go over, taking our jackets off. Walking forward, we put the jacket onto a bench and then go over to crouch down beside Bainbridge. We start looking at the body. After a second, Sherlock comes over and squats at Bainbridge's head. We were examining Bainbridge's lower back. "Hmm. There is a wound to the abdomen – incredibly fine."_

" _Man stabbed to death. No murder weapon. Door locked from the inside. Only one way in or out of here." Sherlock says._

_I move to Bainbridge's head and peel one of his eyes open. "Sherlock." I say._

" _Mmm?" Sherlock asks._

" _He's still breathing." I say._

" _Oh my God." The duty sergeant says behind us._

" _What do we go?" Sherlock asks us._

" _Give me your scarf." I command._

" _What?" Sherlock asks._

" _Quickly, now." I say louder. While Sherlock unwraps his scarf from his neck, I look up at Reed. "Call an ambulance."_

" _What?" The sergeant asks._

" _Call an ambulance now." I commend them louder._

_I go back to Bainbridge. "Listen to her! Now!" I hear John say. I press the scarf aginst the wound in Bainbridge's back._

_I look at John. "Press here – hard." I tell him. He nods. "Keep pressure on it." I kneel down by Bainbridge's head. "Stephen. Stephen, honey. Stay with me."_

"Private Bainbridge had just come off guard duty. He'd stood there for hours, plenty of people watching, nothing apparently wrong. He came off duty and within minutes was nearly dead from a wound in his stomach, but there was no weapon. Where did it go? Ladies and gentlemen, I invite you to consider this: a murderer who can walk through walls, a weapon that can vanish – but in all of this there is only one element which can be said to be truly remarkable. Would anyone like to make a guess?" Sherlock explains, back at the reception. I was looking around at everyone. The guests fidget and look at each other. "Come on, come on, there is actually an element of Q and A to all of this." He clears his throat. Still the guests remain silent. "Scotland Yard." Greg lifts his head. "Have you got a theory?" Greg stares at him blankly. "Yeah, you. You're a detective – broadly speaking. Got a theory?"

"Er, um, if the, if-if-if, if the blade was, er, propelled through the, um ..." Greg says and stops to think for a moment. "... grating in the air vent ... maybe a-a ballista or a – or a – or a catapult. Erm, somebody tiny could-could crawl in there." He sucks in a breath. "So, yeah, we're loo... we're looking for a-a-a-a dwarf." I chuckle and roll my eyes.

Sherlock was staring at him blankly. "Brilliant."

"Really?" Greg asks.

"No." Sherlock says instantly.

Greg sighs and lowers his head.

"He stabbed himself." I hear Tom whisper to Molly. I roll my eyes.

"Hello? Who was that?" Sherlock asks. Tom looks round, wide-eyed. "Tom." Grimacing, Tom slowly stands up. I grin. This should be funny. I needed a good laugh. "Got a theory?"

Tom sways nervously from foot to foot for a moment. "Um ... attempted suicide, with a blade made of compacted blood and bone; broke after piercing his abdomen ... like a meat ... dagger." He says slowly and tentatively. I start laughing, and hear Mycroft laughing beside me. I look at Molly and see that her face was a picture of disbelief. She looks at me and rolls her eyes. I start laughing more.

"A meat dagger." Sherlock says precisely.

"Yes." Tom says awkwardly.

"Sit. Down." Molly whispers through gritted teeth.

"No." Sherlock says precisely. Tom sits down. There was one feature, and only one feature, of interest in the whole of this baffling case, and quite frankly it was the usual. John Watson – who, while I was trying to solve the murder, instead saved a life. Well, Calliah was helping John too, but this isn't her day." He says and smiles at me. I roll my eyes. "There are mysteries worth solving and stories worth telling." He looks down at John. "The best and bravest man I know – and on top of that he actually knows how to do stuff." John lowers his head and chuckles with embarrassment. "... except wedding planning and serviettes – he's rubbish at those."

"True!" John says. We all laugh.

"The case itself remains the most ingenious and brilliantly-planned murder – or attempted murder – I've ever had the pleasure to encounter; the most perfect locked-room mystery of which I am aware. However, I'm not just here to praise John – I'm also here to embarrass him, so let's move on to some ..." Sherlock says.

"No-no, wait, so how was it… how was it done?" Greg interrupts.

"How was what done?" Sherlock asks.

Sherlock looks down awkwardly for a few moments, then raises his head. "I'm afraid I don't know. I didn't solve that one. That's…" he pauses. "it can happen sometimes. It's very…very disappointing." He looks reflective for a second, then takes a breath and looks out to the guests again. "Embarrassment leads me on to the stag night. Of course there's hours of material here, but I've cut it down to the really good bits."

" _Calliah, you have to come." Sherlock says to me as I was cooking dinner. "You are part of the team."_

" _I'm not a stag though." I say._

" _You think we care?" Sherlock asks._

_I sigh. "Fine. Let me get dressed." I go and get dressed._

_We get to the first pub and John and I sit down on a table while Sherlock goes to the bar. "I'm glad you came Calliah. I haven't seen you in a while."_

" _Well, Sherlock practically begged me to. I couldn't say no." I tell him._

" _Is everything okay Calliah?" He asks._

" _Yup." I say as Sherlock brings over three cylinders. John and I look at them in disbelief. John sighs heavily while Sherlock takes out his phone, selects an app and puts it onto the bench. The phone's stopwatch starts up._

" _What, are we on a schedule?" John asks._

" _You'll thank me." Sherlock explains. We clink our cylinders and drink. We do this at the next four bars._

_At the fifth bar, we finish out drinks. John turns and looks all-round the room. Sherlock points over John's shoulder. "Over there."_

_John leans closer, since the bar was playing loud music. "What?"_

" _Toilets. Any second now, you're going to…" Sherlock starts to explain._

_John puts a hand on his arm. "Hang on. Tell me after – I need the loo." He gets up._

" _Mmm, on schedule." Sherlock says and I giggle._

" _Eh?" John asks, turning back._

" _Nothing – go." Sherlock says._

_John stumbles off, while Sherlock looks at his phone and pulls up his charts which will measure urine output against blood alcohol level. He updates the alcohol level chart and finishes it with a fancy flourish." You are having too much fun."_

" _Hmm?" Sherlock asks._

" _Too much fun." I say and giggle._

_A little while later John returns to the table. "How long?" Sherlock asks._

" _Sorry?" John asks._

" _Your visit." Sherlock explains. John sits down and gives him a quizzical look. Sherlock looks down at his chart. "Estimate approximate volume discharged…"_

" _Stop talking now." John says._

_At the next bar, John and I go to the bar and get a shot of whiskey. "Ooh, er…" John says. He glances over his shoulder over his shoulder to where Sherlock was standing. "Quick, one more. He must'nt see." We drink our shot in one gulp. We grab the other shot and I pour mine into my cylinder. John pours his into one of them and we go back across towards Sherlock but then stops and looks at them, apparently unable to remember which one has the shot in it. Sniffing the left one and presumably thinking that that one contains only beer, he puts it on the table. "There you go." Sherlock turns and picks it up. "Cheers." We drink._

_At the next bar, Sherlock is plastered. In the smoking area outside the pub, he is loudly and drunkenly gesticulating and sounding off to a male customer over the very loud music. " I know ash!" John is sitting at a nearby table, looking fairly legless himself. He covers his face with his hand. I was wasted and giggling at Sherlock. " Don't – Tell – Me – I – Don't!" On each word he pokes the man in the upper chest with one finger, and on the last word he puts his hand on the man's shoulder and pushes him. Sighing, John looks up as the man swings a punch at Sherlock's face. Sherlock sways back – possibly more by luck than judgment – and avoids it._

_John jumps up. "Oh ..." Thrown off-balance by his swing, the man stumbles forward and almost falls onto a nearby table. One of his mates helps him up. John grabs Sherlock from behind and pulls him away while Sherlock flails wildly towards the man. " All right, enough! That's ..." Grunting with the effort and slurring the rest of his words, he drags Sherlock a few feet away, supporting most of his weight, before propping him onto his feet. "Stand up straight." I go over to them and giggle. Sherlock turns round towards him. John points towards the exit to Sherlock's left. " Yeah."_

_Sherlock points back towards the customer. "Ashtray. I know ashtray." Sherlock says slurring his words._

_We go back to Sherlock's flat. The boys were lying on the steps. I was lying on the ground. We all have our eyes closed. "I have an international reputation." I hear Sherlock say. "Do you two have international reputations?"_

" _No, I don't have an international reputation." John says._

" _No." I say._

" _No." Sherlock says. "And I can't even remember what for." I laugh. "Sss…crime…something or other."_

_Mrs. Hudson comes of her house. "Ooh! What are you three doing back? I thought you were going to be out late."_

" _Ah, Hudders. What time is it?" Sherlock asks, slurring his words._

" _You've only been out two hours." Mrs. Hudson says. I open eye and see the boys sitting up. They try to stand but to tightly wedge together. Sherlock falls off the step and thumps on his backside onto the next step down. I giggle at him and close my eyes._

_We finally get upstairs. The boys were in their chairs, playing Rizla Game. I was laying on the couch._

" _Am I a vegetable?" John asks._

_Sherlock, holding a glass of whiskey in one hand, points at him. "You, or the thing?"_

_We all snigger. "Funny!"_

_Sherlock looks down. "Thank you." Sherlock says bashful._

" _Come on." John says._

_Sherlock raises his head again. "No, you're not a vegetable." He says slurring his words._

" _It's your go." John says. He picks up his own glass and drinks._

" _Errr ... am I human?" Sherlock asks._

" _Sometimes." John says. They keep talking as I fall asleep._

_I wake up later to Sherlock waking me up. "We have a casey thing." I nod and get up and go with them._

_We go this woman's, Tessa I found out, boyfriend's house. Sherlock wobbles unsteadily in front of a large clear glass plate on a stand. It's a large apartment with bare brick walls and a very high ceiling. The room is decorated with several pieces of modern furniture and art. Sherlock grins drunkenly at the glass plate, then straightens up a bit and looks around the room. He is currently kneeling on the sofa with his arms braced on its back. John stands nearby, leaning against a supporting pillar in the middle of the room. I was standing by John, leaning on him. "Ohhh, it's nice!" Sherlock stands up off the sofa, and then promptly falls back onto it. John turns a little and braces his hand against the supporting column. Tessa is standing nearby, together with the landlord who is holding a set of keys and looking at the boys in confusion. She looks at me and frowns. I shrug. "Nice place."_

_The landlord sighs and crosses his arms. Sherlock gets up and totters around the living room. "See anything?" Tessa asks._

" _Hmm?" Sherlock asks._

" _Any clues, Mr. Holmes?" Tessa asks._

" _Oh, errrrr…" Sherlock says and looks around. he wanders over to the chair and looks more closely at it, then twirls around and his eyes settle in a rather unfocused way on Tessa. Scratching his head, he suddenly looks inspired. He grins at Tessa. "I'm just gonna whip this out." He puts his hand in his coat pocket, then stumbles in circles across the room while he tugs at whatever he's trying to pull out. Eventually he manages to extract his pouch of equipment from the pocket, simultaneously shaking off his coat and dropping it to the floor. He blinks at the pouch, then unrolls it and takes out his magnifier. Tossing the pouch over his shoulder, he holds the magnifier up to show the others. "Mm-hmm?" He clicks it open. The landlord sighs again while Tessa smiles awkwardly. John is still half-asleep leaning against the pillar. Sherlock drops to his knees on a white rug, braces himself with his left hand and slowly wobbles forward onto his right elbow._

_Tessa turns to John and gently pushes him upright from the pillar. "You all right?" Tessa asks, smiling at him._

" _Hmm? Yeah. He's clueing." John explains._

" _What?" Tessa asks._

" _He's…hmm? He's clueing for looks." John says._

_They look down at Sherlock, who has brought his face down to within about four inches of the rug. He is holding his magnifier to his eye and looking through it, then his eyes drift closed and he slowly topples forward and face-plants onto the rug. I start laughing. "Mr. Holmes?" Sherlock doesn't respond, still on his knees with his bum stuck up in the air. He snores noisily. Tessa looks nervously at the landlord and steps forward towards Sherlock. " Mr. Holmes?!"She says louder._

" _I'm calling the police." The landlord says._

" _Oh, no…" Tessa says._

_The landlord walks across to the rug and hauls Sherlock up onto his knees. " Whoa, whoa, whoa!" The landlord steps back as John holds out a warning hand to him._

" _This is a famous detective. It's Sherlock Holmes and his partners, John Hamish Watson and Calliah Adler." Tessa says._

_John steps towards the landlord, attempting and failing to look threatening. "What d'you think you're doing? Don't compromise the integrity of the…" Sherlock starts to say._

_He turns round, bends over and throws up on the rug. The landlord closes his eyes, and Tessa puts her hand across her mouth._

_John's eyes drift upwards as he goes into full thinking mode again. Eventually he finds the words he needs to finish Sherlock's sentence for him. "…Crime scene!" He says loudly._

_He grins triumphantly at Tessa and holds up his right palm for her to high-five. She doesn't take up the offer. Eventually he lowers his hand again, shaking his head. Sherlock coughs and straightens up onto his knees again. He gestures towards John with the magnifier. "Yeah, that" Looking up at the others, he holds up the magnifier and delicately clicks it closed, then wipes the vomit off his mouth._

_I wake up in the holding cell and see the boys. I sit up and wipe my eyes. A door opens and Greg walks in. "Wakey-wakey!" He says cheerfully. I get up and go to him and rest my head on his shoulder. He pats my head._

" _Oh my God!" John says grimacing. He peers towards us. "Greg. Is that Greg?"_

" _Get up. I'm gonna put you three in a taxi. Managed to square things with the desk sergeant." Greg explains. John painfully climbs to his feet. Greg laughs disparagingly. He looks at me and smiles. He looks back at the boys."What a couple of lightweights! You couldn't even make it to closing time!"_

_John walks slowly towards us. "Can you whisper?" He asks softly._

" _NOT REALLY!" Greg yells in his ear as he walks past. (Sherlock flails upwards on the bench, his eyes wide and his mouth open in shock. He looks round the cell in bewilderment. John gives Greg a look of hurt betrayal, and then leaves the cell. Greg beckons to Sherlock. "Come on." He leads me out and we follow John._

_We go to the front desk, so the boys can get their stuff. I didn't bring anything so I was standing by them. Grunting with the effort, Sherlock puts his coat back on. John tucks his wallet into his back pocket. " Well, thanks for a ... you know ..." John says as we turn and walk away from the desk. "... an evening."_

" _It was awful." Sherlock says._

" _Yeah." John says. Sherlock groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. " I was gonna pretend, but it was, truly."_

_Sherlock lowers his head. "That woman, Tessa."_

" _What?" John asks._

" _Dated a ghost. The most interesting case for months. What a wasted opportunity." Sherlock says._

" _... Okay." John says._

 


	37. Chapter 37

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the next part of The Sign of Three**

**I own nothing, except Calliah and my ideas.**

_I was sitting by Sherlock at the dining table. We were reading an article on Major Sholto. It shows a photograph of Major Sholto before he was injured, and a large strapline beside the photo reads, “‘He destroyed us all. And he gets a medal for it.”’ A few visible lines of text above and below the photo show that this is an interview with Madeline Small, the mother of one of the soldiers who died under Sholto’s command. The headline of the article reads, “V.C. Hero – The Unanswered Questions. Why did my boy have to die?” Sherlock looks towards the living room door when he hears John climbing the stairs. He switches to a different tab on the laptop – the website for I DATED A GHOST.COM. John comes in and walks across to the dining table where we are sitting._

_“There are going to be others.” Sherlock says._

_“Others?” John asks._

_Victims, women. Most ghosts tend to haunt a single house – this ghost, however, is willing to commute, look.” Sherlock explains. He stands up and they look at a map of London spread out on the table behind the laptop. Sherlock has stuck a pin in various places. There are seven pins in the map, forming a rough circle spanning a few miles around the Thames. Sherlock gets six laptops and starts messing women who have had “Ghost dates”. He starts talking to them all. I roll my eyes and lay on the couch. John looks at me._

_“Calliah…” He says softly and walks over to me. I look at him. “What’s wrong?”_

_“Nothing.” I say and look away. He picks up my hand and makes me get up. He pulls me to his old bedroom. “Now, John. I know I’m amazing and you love me, but I’m a married woman and you are an almost married man.” I joke without smiling._

_He laughs. “Yeah, no. You are not my type. You are like my sister.” He says and we sit on his bed. “Calliah. I know the signs. You are depressed. What is wrong? When Mary said something about marriage you didn’t say anything. The Calliah I know would have bragged about her marriage, said how wonderful Mycroft was, or even smiled. The last few times you have been around, you are moody, unsociable, and just don’t want to do anything. I mean Sherlock and I haven’t seen you in months. What is wrong? Is it Mycroft?”_

_I look at my hands. “So you think Sherlock will mess up his best man toast? Molly does.” I say, trying to not answer the question._

_“Is he hitting you? Making you stay away?” John asks._

_I glare at him. “No! Don’t ever think that Mycroft would do that!” I yell._

_He grins. “There she is.” I frown and roll my eyes. “Calliah, I need you to talk to me. I can help you if you tell me what’s going on.”_

_I sigh and look at him. “He isn’t ever home…” I say softly._

_“He isn’t? Why?” John asks._

_“I don’t know. He says work, but… I just don’t know.” I say and get up. “Let’s get back to Sherlock. Never know what he is up to.” I start walking to the door._

_“Are you cutting?” He asks._

_I turn back. “No.” I lie. He nods and we go back to the living room. Sherlock hasn’t moved since we left, other than to reply. I lie back on the couch._

_John goes over to Sherlock. “You okay?” Sherlock looks at John. “Don’t let your food go cold. Mrs. Hudson’ll play hell.”_

_“Not now, John.” Sherlock says. He unbuttons his jacket and squats down to the coffee table. He goes back to talking with the women._

_After a little, John goes behind Sherlock. “But only for one night.” He says. Sherlock turns to look at John. “Then he’s gone.”_

_“He’s not a ghost, John. He’s a mayfly. He lives for a day.” Sherlock explains and then turns back to the computers. After a little, he shuts down the lid of one of the laptops. “Why? Why would he date all of those women and not return their calls?”_

_“You’re missing the obvious, mate.” John says._

_Sherlock turns to John. “Am I?”_

_“He’s a man.” John says._

_Sherlock slams the lids down on each of the laptops by turn. “But why would be he change his identity?”_

_“Maybe he’s married.” I suggest._

_Sherlock slowly straightens up as if realizing something. “Ohh.”_

 

“Married. Obvious, really. Our Mayfly Man was trying to was trying to escape the suffocating chains of domesticity ...” Sherlock says. John grimaces and shakes his head while Mary widens her eyes briefly and then smiles at him. “... and instead of endless nights in watching the telly or going to barbecues with awful dreadful boring people he couldn’t stand, he used his wits, cleverness and powers of disguise ...” He finally takes a breath, and smiles slightly. “... to play the field. He was ...” He stops when he realizes that he has lost his audience again. The guests look silently back at him. I smiled and rested my head on Mycroft’s shoulder. He wraps an arm around my waist. He looks down to his right to see John looking back at him straight-faced and Mary wrinkling her nose and shaking her head slightly. “On second thoughts I probably should have told you about the Elephant in the Room. However, it does help to further illustrate how invaluable John is to me. I can read a crime scene the way he can understand a human being. I used to think that’s what made me special – quite frankly, I still do. But a word to the wise: should any of you require the services of either of us, I will solve your murder, but it takes John Watson to save your life. Trust me on that – I should know. He’s saved mine so many times, and in so many ways.” He holds up his phone. “This blog is the story of two men and one woman and their frankly ridiculous adventures ...” He smiles, and the guests chuckle. I grin at him. “... of murder, mystery and mayhem. But from now on, there’s a new story – a bigger adventure.” He looks down at the newlyweds, who smile happily. “Ladies and gentlemen, pray charge your glasses and be upstanding.” He picks up his own glass while the guests do likewise and stand up. The photographer walks forward with his camera. Sherlock raises his glass. “Today begin the adventures of Mary Elizabeth Watson and John Hamish Watson.” John sighs a little, while Mary giggles. I roll my eyes. “The two reasons why every single one of us is ...” He stops, freezing in place, staring blindly towards the guests. The photographer snaps several photos of him but the popping flashbulb doesn’t make him react. Sherlock’s fingers loosen slightly and his champagne glass slips out of them and begins  to tumble towards the floor. I look at him worried. What happened? “... here today.” His champagne glass smashes on the floor at his feet. He looks down at it. He raises his head. “Ooh, sorry. I ...” He looks down at the floor, making an exasperated noise and clearing his throat. The Master of Ceremonies/Head Waiter hurries over to him.

“Another glass, sir?” The master of ceremonies asks and offers him a glass.

Sherlock takes the glass. “Thank you, yes. Thank you, yes.” He looks out at the guests.  Sherlock looks around. “Now, where were we?” Greg and Mrs. Hudson look at each other in worry. Sherlock shakes his head a little. “Ah, yes. Raising glasses and standing up. Very good. Thank you.” Sherlock raises both hands and gestures downwards. “And down again.” We all sit down. The other guest murmuring amongst themselves. I look at Sherlock and frown. Sherlock looks at us all for a moment, then puts his glass down on the table and straightens up. “Ladies and gentlemen, people tell you not to milk a good speech – get off early, leave ’em laughing. Wise advice I’ll certainly try to bear in mind. But for now ...”He puts one hand on the table and quickly jumps over to the other side. The guests gasp in surprise. I shake my head slightly. “... part two.” He walks into the central aisle between the tables. “Part two is more action-based. I’m gonna ... walk around, shake things up a bit.” He looks at each person as he walks past. “Who’d go to a wedding? That’s the question. Who would bother to go to any lengths to get themselves to a wedding?” Two thirds of the way along the room he turns around. “Well, everyone.” He claps his hands once. “Weddings are great! Love a wedding.” I share a look with John. We were worried. What was Sherlock trying to figure out? Sherlock points at John. “And John’s great, too! Haven’t said that enough. Barely scratched the surface. I could go on all night about the depth and complexity of his ... jumpers ...” John closes his eyes in disbelief. Sherlock is pacing and turning back and forth. “... and he can cook. Does ... a ... thing ... thing with peas ...” Sherlock continues to pace and look closely at the guests. “... once. Might not be peas. Might not be him. Probably Calliah. But he’s got a great singing voice ... or somebody does. Maybe that is Calliah again.” He sighs in frustration, his teeth clenched. “Ahh, too many, too many, too many, too many!” I frown and start to get up. Mycroft shakes his head. “Sorry. Too many jokes about John! Now, er … Where was I? Ah, yes ...Speech!” He points towards the top table, grinning round at the guests. “Speech.” He claps his hands together again. “Let’s talk about ... murder.” John sighs and lowers his head, while Mary frowns. I look at Mycroft. He shakes his head. “Sorry, did I say ‘murder’? I meant to say ‘marriage’ – but, you know, they’re quite similar procedures when you think about it. The participants tend to know each other, and it’s over when one of them’s dead.” He emphatically sounds the ‘d’ at the end of the word. Again John sighs and lowers his head. “In fairness, murder is a lot quicker, though. Janine!” She looks up a little wide-eyed. Sherlock walks over to stand behind one of the male guests. “What about this one? Acceptably hot?” He grins at Janine, then looks at the woman sitting beside the man. “More importantly, his girlfriend’s wearing brand-new uncomfortable underwear ... and hasn’t bothered to pick this thread off the top of his jacket  ... or point out the grease smudge on the back of his neck. Currently, he’s going home alone. Also, he’s a comics and sci-fi geek. They’re always tremendously grateful – really put the hours in.” He chuckles. “Geoff, the gents.” He looks across to Greg and jerks his head towards the door. “The loos, now, please.”

“It’s Greg.” Greg says.

“The loos, please.” Sherlock says.

Greg’s phone beeps a text alert. Greg reaches into his pocket. “Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s your turn.” Sherlock says.

“Yeah, actually, now you mention it…” Greg says and goes out of the room. Sherlock pockets his phone.

“Sherlock, any chance of a- an end date for this speech? Gotta cut the cake.” John asks.

Sherlock smiles widely and dances down the aisle. “Oh! Ladies and gentleman, can’t stand it when I finally get the chance to speak for once, Vatican Cameos.” He directs the last two words at John and me. I straighten up and see John do the same. I look at John and frown. We look at Sherlock.

“Why did he say that?” Mycroft asks me. I just shake my head.

Sherlock roars loudly with frustration and rage and slaps himself hard on the right cheek. “No!” He slaps his left cheek. I get up and Mycroft grabs my wrist. “No! Not you! Not you!” Sherlock calms down and points his fingers towards the top table. “You.” He says softly. I sit down as Sherlock walks towards the top table, now pointing at him with just one hand.

“What do I do?” John asks.

Sherlock says something to John softly. He turns to us again with a manic grin on his face. “Sorry. Off-piste a bit. Back now. Phew!” He claps his hands together and looks down at the floor. “Let’s play a game.” He raises his eyes while lowering his head a little more. “Let’s play murder.” Sherlock walks towards me and hands me a piece of paper.

“Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson says disapprovingly.

Sherlock goes back to the aisle and steeps his hands in front of his chin as he progresses forwards. I look down at the note.

_Save a life._

It read. I nodded at him when he looked over. Mycroft looked at me confused and I just kiss his cheek. “I’ll explain it all later. If I get up, follow me.” I whisper to him. He nods as I sit back.

“Imagine someone’s going to get murdered at a wedding. Who exactly would you pick?” Sherlock asks.

“I think you’re a popular choice at the moment, dear.” Mrs. Hudson says. I giggle.

“If someone could move Mrs. Hudson’s glass just slightly out of reach, that would be lovely. More importantly, who could you only kill at a wedding?” Sherlock asks. He turns back to look at the guests. “Most people you can kill any old place. As a mental exercise, I’ve often planned the murder of friends and colleagues.” Rubbing his hands together, he walks back along the room, then gestures towards John. “Now John I’d poison. Sloppy eater – dead easy. I’vegiven him chemicals and compounds – that way, he’s never even noticed. He missed a whole Wednesday once, didn’t have a clue. Lestrade’s so easy to kill, it’s a miracle no-one’s succumbed to the temptation.” He turns and heads towards the back of the room again. “I’ve got a pair of keys to my brother’s house – I could easily break in there and asphyxiate him and Calliah.” Mycroft glares at Sherlock. He makes strangely gestures with his hands, then seems to realize that he may have gone too far. “... if, if the whim arose.”

“He’s pissed, isn’t he?” I hear Tom say. I look over to see Molly stab a plastic fork onto the back of his hand, all without looking. Tom grabs his hand. “Ow!” I giggle and she looks at me.

“So, once again, who could you only kill here?” Sherlock asks, He turns and faces the guests again. “Clearly it’s a rare opportunity, so it’s someone who doesn’t get out much. Someone for whom a planned social encounter known about months in advance is an exception. Has to be a unique opportunity. And since killing someone in public is difficult ... killing them in private isn’t an option. Someone who lives in an inaccessible or unknown location, then.” I glance up. I knew who it was. I look at Sherlock. “Someone private, perhaps, obsessed with personal security. Possibly someone under threat.” I look over at Major Sholto. As if sensing Sherlock’s gaze, Sholto turns and looks at him. Sherlock stares back at him. Sherlock tries to act nonchalantly as he walks over to a nearby table and picks up one of the names cards on it while pulling a pen on a chain from his waistcoat. “Ooh! A recluse, small household staff.” He starts writing something. “High turnover for additional security.” He walks over to Sholto and casually drops the name card down in front of him before walking away. “Probably all signed confidentiality agreements. There is another question that remains, however – a big one, a huge one: how would you do it? How would you kill someone in public? There has to be a way. This has been planned.”

That little boy from earlier jumps up from his chair. “Mr. Holmes! Mr. Holmes!”

Sherlock stops and turns to him. “Oh, hello again, Archie.” He bends forward to get more down to Archie’s level. “What’s your theory? Get this right and there’s a headless nun in it for you.”

“The invisible man could do it.” Archie says.

“The who, the what, the why, the when, the where?” Sherlock asks very quick fire.

“The invisible man with the invisible knife. The one who tried to kill the Guardsman.” Archie says.

Sherlock gasps and straightens up, his eyes wide. I notice Sholto get up, pick up his ceremonial sword propped against the window and turn to walk towards the door. “Oh, not just planned. Planned and rehearsed.” Sherlock says softly. He turns and watches Sholto reaches the door and start to open it. Sherlock turns back and heads quickly towards the top table, swiping someone’s champagne glass from a table as he goes. “Ladies and gentlemen, there will now be a short interlude.” He skids to a halt in front of the top table and turns and holds up his glass. “The bride and groom!” A little uncertainly this time, the guests stand up and raise their glasses.

“The bride and groom.” The other guest say.

Instantly Sherlock turns back and bends down to John. He turns and starts making his way through the guests who are now blocking the aisle. “’Scuse me, coming through!” I get up and follow Sherlock. I hear Mycroft get up and follow me.

Downstairs, on a half-landing partway up the staircase, Sherlock stands with the tips of his fingers against his temples and his eyes screwed closed. John paces impatiently beside him. I stand there with Mycroft. “How can you not remember which room? You remember everything.”

“I have to delete something!” Sherlock says irritably.

Mary runs around the corner and pelts up the stairs in between them, holding her skirt up with one hand to stop herself tripping over it. “Two oh seven.”

We all chase after her and Sherlock quickly overtakes her. Reaching the second floor, Sherlock knocks on the door of Room 207 and tries the handle. Sherlock rattles the door handle. “Major Sholto? Major Sholto!” He slams the flat of his right hand repeatedly against the door. “Major Sholto!”

“If someone’s about to make an attempt on my life, it won’t be the first time. I’m ready.” We hear Sholto says.

John walks towards the door. Sherlock steps back, shaking out his right hand and flexing the fingers.

“Major, let us in.” John says.

“Kick the door down.” Mary suggests.

“I really wouldn’t. I have a gun in my hand and a lifetime of unfortunate reflexes.”

Sherlock walks to the door. “You’re not safe in there. Whoever’s after you, we know that a locked room doesn’t stop him.”

“’The invisible man with the invisible knife.’” Sholto says.

“I don’t know how he does it, so I can’t stop him, and that means he’ll do it again.” Sherlock says.

“Solve it, then.” Sholto says sternly.

“I – I’m sorry?” Sherlock asks.

“You’re the famous Mr. Holmes. Solve the case. On you go.” Sholto says. Sherlock straightens up, his eyes rapidly flickering from side to side. “Tell me how he did it and I’ll open the door.”

John steps forward again. “Please, this is no time for games. Just let us in! You’re in danger!”

“So are you, so long as you’re here.” Sholto says. Mary watches Sherlock as he paces back and forth across the landing. “Please, leave me. Despite my reputation, I really don’t approve of collateral damage.”

“Solve it.” Mary says to Sherlock.

He stops and looks at her. “Sorry?”

“Solve it, and he’ll open the door, like he said.” Mary says.

“If I couldn’t solve it before, how can I solve it now?” Sherlock asks.

“Because it matters now.” Mary says.

“What are you talking about?” Sherlock asks. He looks at John. “What’s she talking about? Get your wife under control.”

“She’s right.” John says.

“Oh, you’ve changed!” Sherlock says.

“No, she is.” John says and turns and points at him. “Shut up. You are not a puzzle-solver – you never have been. You’re a drama queen.” Sherlock’s mouth drops open and he stares at him. I giggle at him. “Now, there is a man in there about to die. “ He says louder. “The game is on.” He says sarcastically. Angrily, pointing at the door. “Solve it!” Sherlock bares his teeth at him, then his eyes suddenly snap upwards. Outside Sholto’s bedroom Sherlock – who had closed his eyes during the memories – opens them again. He steps over to Mary, takes hold of her head in both hands and kisses her forehead.

Sherlock releases her, then pointing towards John. “Though, in fairness, he’s a drama queen too.”

“Yeah, I know.” Mary says.

“So are the both of you.” Sherlock says to Mycroft and me.

We look at each other and nod. “Yup.” I say.

John frowns. Sherlock goes over to the door and speaks loudly. “Major Sholto, no-one’s coming to kill you. I’m afraid you’ve already been killed several hours ago.”

“What did you say?” Sholto says.

“Don’t take off your belt.” Sherlock says.

“My belt?” Sholto asks.

Sherlock turns around and talks to us. “His belt, yes. Bainbridge was stabbed hours before we even saw him, but it was through his belt. Tight belt, worn high on the waist. Very easy to push a small blade through the fabric and you wouldn’t even feel it.”

John is nodding his understanding. “The-the belt would bind the flesh together when it was tied tight ...”

“Exactly.” Sherlock says.

“... and when you took it off ...” I say.

“Delayed action stabbing. All the time in the world to create an alibi.” Sherlock says and shakes the door handle. “Major Sholto?”

“So – I was to be killed by my uniform. How appropriate.” Sholto says.

“He solved the case, Major. You’re supposed to open the door now. A deal is a deal.” Mary says.

“I’m not even supposed to have this any more. They gave me special dispensation to keep it. I couldn’t imagine life out of this uniform. I suppose – given the circumstances – I don’t have to.” Sholto says. “When so many want you dead, it hardly seems good manners to argue.”

“Whatever you’re doing in there, James, stop it, right now. I will kick this door down.” John threatens.

“Mr. Holmes, you and I are similar, I think.” Sholto says. John turns away from the door and Sherlock walks closer.

“Yes, I think we are.” Sherlock says.

“There’s a proper time to die, isn’t there?” Sholto asks.

“Of course there is.” Sherlock says.

“And one should embrace it when it comes – like a soldier.” Sholto says.

“Of course one should, but not at John’s wedding. We wouldn’t do that, would we – you and me? We would never do that to John Watson.” Sherlock says. Outside, Sherlock steps away from the door and John walks closer, leaning towards the door and listening for any sound from the room. He straightens up and takes his jacket off.

“I’m gonna break it down.” John says,

“No, wait, wait, you won’t have to.” Mary says.

“Hmm?” John asks. The door opens. Sholto glances briefly at Sherlock, then lowers his eyes before looking at John and me. “I believe I am in need of medical attention.”

“I believe I am your doctor.” John says. “Come on assistant.” John says to me. We follow Sholto as he turns and goes back into the room.

“I am not your assistant. I was the one who helped Bainbridge.” I say and frown.


	38. Chapter 38

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the last part of The Sign of Three**

**I own nothing, except Calliah and my ideas.**

I was walking around looking at the place. I see Sherlock and Janine waltzing alone. I smile and watch them.

“One, two, three: der, der, der… Ahh, pretty good.” Sherlock says.

“Ooh!” Janine says. They stop dancing.

Sherlock releasing her. “Just… hold your nerve on your turning.” Sherlock says.

Janine adjusts the top of her strapless bridesmaid’s dress. “Why do we have to rehearse?”

Sherlock leans in and speaks confidentially. “Because we are about to dance together in public, and your skills are appalling!” He smiles at her and she laughs.

“Well, you’re a good teacher.” Janine says.

“Mmm.” Sherlock says.

“And you’re a brilliant dancer.” Janine says.

Sherlock leans towards Janine again. “I’ll let you in on something, Janine.” He says quietly.

“Go on, then.” Janine says whispering.

“I love dancing. I’ve always loved it.” Sherlock says.

“Seriously?” Janine asks.

“Watch out” Sherlock says. He looks around and see me.

I smile. “Keep going. Ignore me.”

“Never.” Sherlock says. I smiles at him. He swings both of his arms to the left, takes a sharp breath, rises onto his left foot and does a full-circle pirouette.

“Ooh! Woah!” Janine says. I clap my hands.

Sherlock clears his throat. “Never really comes up in crime work but, um, you know, I live in hope of the right case.”

Janine sighs wistfully. “I wish you weren’t…” Sherlock turns and looks at her. “…whatever it is you are.”

“I know.” Sherlock says.

John walks into view and spots up. He walks over. “Well, glad to see you’ve pulled, Sherlock, what with murderers running riot at my wedding.” He claps his hand on Sherlock’s back.

“One murder… - one nearly murderer.” Sherlock says. He looks to Janine. “Love to exaggerate. You should try living with him.”

“It’s amusing living with both of you.” I say. Sherlock rolls his eyes at me.

The entrance door opens and Greg comes in. “Sherlock?” He points back out the door. “Got him for you.”

Sherlock claps his hands together as the wedding photographer walks in. “Ah, the photographer. Excellent!” He looks at Greg. “Thank you.” He walks over to the photographer and points at the camera he’s holding. “Er, may I look at your camera?”

“Er…” The photographer says. He pulls his camera back nervously but then holds it out to him. “…what’s this about? I was halfway home!”

Sherlock takes the camera. “You should have driven faster.” I go over and look at the camera with Sherlock. “Ah, yes. Yes, very good. There, you see Calliah?” He looks at me.

“I think I do.” I say.

“I know you do.” He says.

“What is it? You gonna tell us?” Greg asks.

Sherlock hands the camera to Greg. “Try looking yourself.”

John walks over to Greg’s side. “Um, look for what?” Sherlock strolls closer to the photographer. John points at the camera. “Is the murderer in these photograph?”

Sherlock looks at me. “Um, It’s not what’s in the photographs… it’s what’s not in them.” I says and look at Sherlock. He nods. I grin.

“The other people in the room need some clarifying.” John says.

“There is always a man at a wedding who is not in any photograph but can go anywhere, and even carry an equipment bag around with him if he likes, and you never even see his face.” Sherlock says and walks closer to the photographer and looks down towards his hand. “You only ever see ...” He rapidly slaps one cuff of a pair of handcuffs around the photographer’s wrist and the other cuff around the frame of a nearby birdcage luggage trolley. “…the camera.”

“What are you doing? What is this?” The photographer asks.

Sherlock holds up his phone to show the screen to the others. “Jonathan Small, today’s substitute wedding photographer – known to us as the Mayfly Man. His brother was one of the raw recruits killed in that incursion. Jonny sought revenge on Sholto, worked his way through Sholto’s staff, found what he needed an invitation to a wedding – the one time Sholto would have to be out in public. So, he made his plan and rehearsed the murder making sure of every last detail.” Sherlock explains. “Brilliant, ruthless, almost certainly a monomaniac – though, in fairness, his photographs are actually quite good.” I giggle as Sherlock tosses his phone to Greg. “Everything you need’s on that. You probably ought to… arrest him or something.”

Mary comes into view, apparently looking for John. She spots him, smiles and hurries towards him. Janine, standing beside Sherlock, leans closer and speaks quietly without looking at him. “Do you always carry handcuffs?” Janine asks.

“Down, girl.” Sherlock says. I giggle.

Mary holds her hand to John. “Come on, quick!” She reaches his side and John puts his arm around her as she turns and sees Small nearby. He is looking at Sherlock fixedly.

“It’s not me you should be arresting, Mr. Holmes.” Small says.

“Oh, I don’t do the arresting.” Sherlock says and nods towards Greg. “I just farm that out.”

“Sholto – he’s the killer, not me. I should have killed him quicker.” Small says. He grins manically, then his smile fades and he shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have tried to be clever.”

“You should have driven faster.” Sherlock says softly. He takes his hands from behind his back and crooks one arm to Janine. She takes it and he offers me the other arm. I take it and we walk away. John and Mary follow them.

In the reception room, the tables have been cleared away. Looking into each other’s eyes, Mary and John are dancing a slow waltz in the middle of the room to the sound of a single violin while all the guests stand around the edge of the room and watch them. On a low stage at the end of the room Sherlock is playing his violin. The tune is the same one I heard this morning. He sways gently while he plays, his eyes fixed on the newlyweds. As the tune draws to an end, John shifts one hand to Mary’s back, holds her by the waist with the other and starts to dip her backwards. Mary gasps. “Really?!” Mary asks. Chuckling, he bends her back as she giggles. He kisses her as the tune ends. The guests break into applause and some of them cheer. Everyone is looking at the happy couple except me and Janine, who directs her applause towards Sherlock. She whoops at him. I grin and look at Mycroft.

“Will she be good for him?” I ask him.

“Only time will tell.” He says. I nods.

“Yeah!” Janine says. Sherlock looks at her for a moment, then turns to the music stand in front of him. He had taken off his buttonhole flower and put it on the stand so that it wouldn’t get in the way while he was playing and now he picks it up, shows her what he’s holding and then tosses it across the room towards her. She catches it. I grin and look around. John – who has pulled Mary upright again and is laughing happily – waves his thanks to Sherlock, then kisses Mary again as Sherlock steps to the nearby microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, just, er, one last thing before the evening begins properly. Apologies for earlier. A crisis arose and was dealt with.” Sherlock says. He draws in a breath. “More importantly, however, today we saw two people make vows. I’ve never made a vow in my life, and after tonight I never will again. So, here in front of you all, my first and last vow. Mary and John: whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on I swear I will always be there, always, for all three of you.” He hesitates momentarily, then stutters.  “Er, I’m sorry, I mean, I mean two of you. All two of you. Both of you, in fact. I’ve just miscounted.” He takes a sharp breath. John and Mary exchange a slightly worried look. I look at Mycroft and giggle. Mary was pregnant. “Anyway, it’s time for dancing.” Over his shoulder to the DJ on the stage. “Play the music again, please, thank you.” Disco lights begin to flash and Sherlock gestures grandly to the guests as Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons’ song “December, 1963 (Oh What A Night)” starts to play. “Okay, everybody, just dance. Don’t be shy!” He walks down off the stage, still gesturing to the crowd. “Dancing, please!” The guests start to move onto the floor and begin to dance. I shake my head. “Very good.” I watch Sherlock talking with John and Mary. They seem like they were in a deep discussion. Probably about Mary. After a little they start laughing. Mary reaches out to touch Sherlock’s arm. Mary turns to John. They start waltzing. Looking over John’s shoulder, Mary smiles at Sherlock and mouths what may be a ‘thank you’. He smiles, then nods to her. As his friends dance away, he lowers his eyes, then slowly turns and looks at everybody dancing all around him, keeping his head lowered as if trying not to meet anyone’s eyes. He looks very lost and alone in the middle of the crowd. After a few moments, however, he seems to have a thought and lifts his head, still looking around but now with more intent. Eventually he sees Janine dancing some distance away. She is wearing his buttonhole flower pinned to the top of her dress. She looks across the room and smiles at him. Returning her smile he starts to walk towards her and she lifts her hand and points to her right with her thumb up, grinning happily. Sherlock stops as he realizes that she’s dancing with the “comics and sci-fi geek” he had recommended to her earlier. She turns away and continues to dance with her new friend. Sherlock looks reflective for a few seconds, then turns towards the stage. Sherlock puts something into an envelope and then leaves the stage, he walks slowly through the guests. Molly, dancing with Tom and Mrs. Hudson, looks across the room and watches him for a few seconds, then turns back to the others. I frown and look up at Mycroft.

“I’ll be back.” I tell him and rush after Sherlock. I grab his wrist. “Sherlock.”

He stops and turns back. He looked a little tearful. “He’s going to have a baby…”

I nod and hugs him. He hugs back and sighs. “I know Sherlock. I know.” I pull back and smile softly. “That doesn’t mean anything. He will still be around, right? He promised.”

“You weren’t.” Sherlock says.

I sigh. “I had problems. Mycroft was being a dick.”

“Yeah, but now that he is back, you will still be gone.” Sherlock says.

“No way. I’m going to need you to get all better. I need my brother.” I say. “And Mycroft still has to work. I can come over and bug you.”

“What about your work?” Sherlock asks.

“Well… before the wedding, I talked to Mycroft.” I say and smile. “I want to write. I want to be an author.”

“I bet you would be a great author.” Sherlock says.

“Well, Mycroft has agreed and since only one of us really needs to be working, I’m going to go back to school to become an author.” I tell him.

“That is great flower.” He says.

I grin. “Thanks. It will be a lot of work. Do you know where I could get a smart person to help me?”

“Hmm…” He pretends to think. “I think I have your guy.” He says and smiles.

I grin. “Good. Now, you are coming back inside with me.” I start to pull him inside.

He stops me. “No. I can’t. No one to dance with.” He says.

“Dance with Molly.” I say and grin.

“She has that Tom person.” He says and grimaces.

“She is going to dump him. Trust me. Let me talk to her and she will dance with you.” I say.

He sighs and nods. “Okay.”

We go back inside. I go back to Mycroft. “Stay with Sherlock.” I tell Mycroft. He nods. I rush over to Molly and pull her to the side. “Dance with Sherlock. We both know you are going to break it off with Tom so do yourself a favor and dance with him.”

“He won’t want to dance with me.” She says softly and looks down.

“I know he does and it is the only reason he came back inside.” I tell her.

She looks up and grins. “Really?”

I nod and we start walking towards the Holmes boys. She stops by Tom and tells him it was over. He frowned and left. She looks at me and I shrug. She laughs as I pull her to the boys. “Sherlock, your dance partner is here.”

“Molly Hooper. Would you like to dance?” Sherlock ask. She giggles and nods. He takes her hand and they go to the dance floor.

“Would you want to dance?” Mycroft asks me.

I look at him and smile. “We both know you don’t want to and I’m not going to make you.” He smiles at me. I lean on him and face forward. He wraps his arms around me and rests his head on my head.


	39. Chapter 39

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the first part of His Last Vow**

**I own nothing, except Calliah and my ideas.**

It had been a couple weeks since the wedding and everything was calm. John hadn’t been around and so Sherlock was a little more moody. I sigh when I get to Sherlock’s flat. He was sleeping in his chair. He had probably fallen asleep looking at where John’s chair use to be. He had moved after the first month of no John. I complained because I could have sat there, but the look on Sherlock’s face shut me up. I kneel down and am about to wake him up. “Don’t.” I hear. I look behind me and see Janine. “We were up late.”

“Doing what?” I stand up and smirk.

“You know…?” She smirks.

“Yeah, no. I would know if you guys were…. Doing that.” I say.

She shakes her head and starts making breakfast. She had been here for as the long the chair was gone. I didn’t like her. She thought since she was dating Sherlock, she had control over him. I knew Sherlock was only dating her to get something, what that something was, I didn’t know yet. I kneel back down and shake him lightly.

“Sherlock. Lock.” I say softly. He groans and opens one eye. He sees me and shuts his eyes again. “Come on. We need to get up. We have the case today.” I say. That gets his attention, as he sits up right away and smiles. “Go get dressed. Remember, it has to be comfy and old.” I remind him as he passes by. We were going to a drug house to stay for a while. We needed information and these people were the best. I told Mycroft where I would be and that I couldn’t be able to call him that much. He understood but hated it. I just reminded him of all his time away. I hated that I used it against him but I couldn’t let Sherlock go alone. Sherlock comes out in a pair of sweat pants and a hoodie. “Good. We need to leave.”

“Sherl… You need to eat.” Janine says and pouts. I roll my eyes.

“I can’t. I have to go.” Sherlock explains.

“Well will I see you tonight?” She asks.

“No. I told you that I was going to be working for a while. It’s a case.” He explains.

“I could come and help.” She offers.

“No.” Sherlock says. “Er, it’s not safe. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

She sighs and nods. “Okay.” She kisses him and he lets her. I start heading for the door. He never kissed her back. Sherlock comes behind me and wipes his mouth off.

We get outside and start walking. “When are you going to break up with her?” I ask.

“When she gets me what I need.” Sherlock explains.

“Which is what?” I asks.

“You’ll find out soon.” He says and smirks.

We get to the drug house and I put on my act of being someone who was on drugs and needed some more. We get in easy enough and we start our mission.

It’s been a week and I was lying in bed. Sherlock was lying by me. I frowned at him. He has been taking some drugs. I tried to stop him, but we would get in fights and he would leave. I wouldn’t see him for a couple days. I couldn’t be alone so I just made sure he didn’t take too much. Sometimes, I would take some to keep up appearance. I shouldn’t have gotten into this. I lie in bed and try to sleep. It was almost morning and I hadn’t got any sleep. I had to take some morphine last night and was jittery. I look over and see Sherlock awake. He looks at me and frowns. At his clean moment, I could see the normal Sherlock. I knew he felt bad for bringing me. I move into him and he hugs me.

“Isaac? Isaac Whitney?” I hear. I open my eyes and peek. It was John. I look at Sherlock and he shakes his head and closes his eyes. I close my eyes and move into him more. I didn’t want John to see me like this anyways. “Issac?” He asks quietly. He walks to our bed. I guess John knows who we sleep with. “Hello, mate. Sit up for me? Sit up.” I feel the bed move.

“Doctor Watson?” Isaac asks.

“Yep.” John says.

“Where am I?” Isaac asks.

“The arse-end of the universe with the scum of the Earth. Look at me.” John explains.

“Have you come for me?” Isaac asks blearily.

“D’you think I know a lot of people here?!” John asks. Isaac laughs hazily. “Hey, all right?”

Sherlock lets go of me and turns around. He props himself onto one elbow and looks round at them. I sit up and look at John. “Ah, hello, John.” John raises his head, his eyes widening. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” He pushes his hood back as John turns round to look at us. Sherlock squinches up his eyes and peers at him. “Did you come for us too?” John looks at us for a second then his eyes begin to narrow.

He makes up get up and start walking. It was very hard for me. I had only had this stuff in my system a couple times. It affected me differently and I was so tired. Sherlock picked me up and I gripped onto his hoodie. Sherlock angrily punches open a temporary door which had been nailed across a doorway, knocking it off all its nails and sending it crashing across the fire escape. They had been fighting the whole way down. “For God’s sake, John! We’re on a case!”

John follows us. “A month – that’s all it took. One.”

Halfway down, Sherlock vaults over the side of the fire escape and onto a wall beside it. “We’re working.” He sets me down and jumps onto the top of a wheelie bin beside the wall. He helps me down. Then he jumps down again and helps me. John follows.

“Sherlock Holmes and Calliah Holmes in a drug den! How’s that gonna look?” John asks.

“We’re undercover.”  Sherlock explains.

“No you two are not!” John says.

“Well, we’re not now!” He gesticulates angrily.

A car comes over to us and I see that it is Mary. “In. All three of you, quickly.”

John gets into the passenger seat while Sherlock gets into the seat behind him. He helps me in. Bill hurries over towards the car, cradling his hurt arm. Mary sighs in exasperation at us, then turns to look through the front windscreen at the new arrival standing in front of the car. “Please. Can I come? I think I’ve got a broken arm.” Bill says.

“No. Go away.” Mary says. I frown. Bill was nice.

“No, let him.” John says. I grin. Yay Bill.

“Why?” Mary asks.

John leans out of the open side window and points towards the rear of the car. “Yeah, just get in. It’s a sprain.” Sherlock moves me to his lap as Bill gets in.

“Anyone else? I mean, we’re taking everybody home, aren’t we?” Mary asks. Pregnant Mary was angry Mary.

Bill looks at us. “All right, Shezza and Róise?” he ask.

“’Shezza and Róise’?” John asks us.

“We were undercover.” Sherlock says tetchily.

“Seriously – ‘Shezza’, thought?!”

Sherlock sighs and I move my head on his shoulder. I wanted sleep.

“We’re not going home. We’re going to Bart’s. I’m calling Molly.” John says.

“Molly! I haven’t seen her in ages!” I yell.

“Why?” Mary asks.

John holds his phone to his ear and turns to look at us before directing to Mary. “Because Sherlock Holmes and Calliah Holmes need to pee in a jar.” Sherlock closes his eyes with exasperation. Mary drives away.

We go to the lab at Bart’s. Molly was finishing the test on Sherlock’s and my urine sample. He is standing nearby, leaning back against the central bench and looking sulky. I was by him. On the other side of the lab Bill is sitting on a side bench while Mary is wrapping a bandage round his arm. Isaac is also sitting nearby. Molly takes off her gloves with two loud snaps. “Well? Are they clean?” John asks.

“Clean?” Molly asks. She turns and walks over to face Sherlock, then slaps him hard around the face with her right hand. Mary, Bill and Isaac look over to them in surprise. Molly slaps him again just as hard and then, for good measure, slaps him again with her left hand. Sherlock blinks and grimaces. “How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with?” She looks at me and slaps me. I frown and grab my cheek. “How dare you let him lead you to a drug house and take drugs!?” She looks at John and then back as us. “And how dare you betray the love of your friends? Say you’re sorry. Both of you.”

Sherlock was holding his face too. “I’m sorry that your engagement’s finally over – though I’m fairly grateful for the lack of a ring.”

“Stop it.” Molly says angrily. “Just stop it.”

John storms over towards us. My high was wearing off and I was getting even more tired. I just wanted to go somewhere to sleep. “If you were anywhere near this kind of thing again, you could have called, you could have talked to me. And you brought Calliah, who could be addicted now!”

“Shhh…” I say softly.

“No sleeping!” John yells. I hold my hands over my head and glare at him.

“Please do relax. This is all for a case. A case that Calliah is helping with since you can’t be around.” Sherlock explains.

“A ca… What kind of case would need you two to do this?” John asks.

“I might as well ask you why you’ve started cycling to work.” Sherlock asks.

John shakes his head. “No. We’re not playing this game.”

“Quite recently, I’d say. You’re very determined about it.” Sherlock says.

“Not interested.” John says.

“I am.” Bill says. Sherlock turns and looks at him. Bill looks down at Mary. “Ow.”

“Oh, sorry. You moved. But it is just a sprain.” Mary says.

“Yeah. Somebody ‘it me.” Bill says.

“Huh?” Mary asks.

Bill turns his head to look at John. John hit Bill? “Eh, just some guy.”

“Yeah, probably just an addict in need of a fix.” John says.

“Yes. I think, in a way, it was.” Sherlock says and I chuckle.

“Is it his shirt?” Bill asks.

Sherlock looks at him. “I’m sorry?”

“Well, it’s the creases, innit?” Bill asks. He looks across to John. “The two creases down the front. It’s been recently folded but it’s not new.” Sherlock smiles slightly. “Must have dressed in a hurry this morning so all your shirts must be kept like that.” John stares at him in confusion. I grin at him. “But why? Maybe ’cause you cycle to work every morning, shower when you get there an’ then dress in the clothes you brought with you.” Sherlock looks at him, clearly impressed. “You keep your shirts folded ready to pack.” Bill finished.

“Not bad.” Sherlock says.

“An’ I further deduce ...” Bill continues. Sherlock raises his eyebrows, and he and John exchange a brief glance. “... You’ve only started recently, because you’ve got a bit of chafing.” John looks down his body.

“No – he’s always walked like that. Remind me – what’s your name again?” Sherlock asks.

“They call me The Wig.” Bill says.

“No they don’t.” Sherlock says.

“Well, they-they call me Wiggy.” Bill says.

“Nope.” Sherlock says.

Bill hesitates, then looks down. “Bill. Bill Wiggins.”

“Nice observational skills, Billy.” Sherlock says. His phone sounds a text alert. He takes out the phone and looks at the message. “Ah! Finally.”

“’Finally’ what?” Molly asks.

“Good news?” Bill asks

“Oh, excellent news – the best.” Sherlock says. He turns and heads for the door, working on his phone. “There’s every chance that Calliah’s and my drug habit might hit the newspapers. The game is on.” Raising his phone to his ear as he reaches the door, he turns and looks round the room briefly. “Excuse me for a second.” He leaves the room. John looks at me and frowns. I rest my head on the table and fall asleep.

I wake up as Sherlock shakes me. We were in a taxi. “Where are we?”

“My flat.” He says and helps me out. He looks over to the door and sighs. “What is my brother doing here?”

I stand up straight and grin. “Croft.” I rush inside and see Mycroft sitting on the stairs. “Croft!” I yell and jump into his arms. I missed him so much.

“Hello love.” He hugs me and kisses my head “I missed you.”

“I missed you too. So much!” I say and sit on his lap.

“Calliah. I will not have you on drugs okay?” He says sternly. I nod and he stares at me.

“I promise. I’m sorry. I just had to help Sherlock. If I didn’t do them then our cover would be blown and I didn’t want to leave him to do more drugs and….” I says and frown. “I’m sorry… I won’t do them anymore.”

“I know you won’t. I had a little spy in the drug house myself. I wasn’t going to let my wife go away and not know what was going on.” He explains. He looks up as Sherlock and John come in. “Well, then, Sherlock. Back on the sauce and bring my wife along for the ride?”

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock asks.

“I phoned him. He needed to know where his brother and wife was at.” John says.

“The siren call of old habits. How very like Uncle Rudy – though, in many ways, cross-dressing world have been a wiser path for you.” Mycroft says. I giggle and cuddle into Mycroft.

“You phoned him.” I heard Sherlock asks.

“’Course I bloody phoned him.” John says.

“’Course he bloody did. You had my wife. Now, save me a little time. Where should we be looking?” Mycroft asks.

“’We’?” Sherlock asks.

“Mr. Holmes?” I hear Anderson’s voice from upstairs. I groan. I look at Mycroft and he looks at me. I roll my eyes.

“For God’s sake!” Sherlock says furiously. He storms up the stairs, Mycroft slides us sideways on the step to get out of Sherlock’s way. Mycroft and John exchange a look and John blows out a breath. Mycroft taps my butt and I get up. Mycroft leans on his umbrella to push himself to his feet. We go up the stairs and go into the kitchen. “Some members of your little fan-club. Do be polite. They’re entirely trustworthy, and even willing to search through the toxic waste dump that you are pleased to call a flat.” Sherlock has curled up sideways in his chair and now lays his head on one of his arms, closing his eyes. “You’re a celebrity these days, Sherlock. You can’t afford a drug habit. And if Calliah become an addict, I will blame you.”

“I won’t become addicted.” I say softly.

Sherlock opens his eyes and looks at Mycroft irritated. “I do not have a drug habit.”

“Hey, what happened to my chair?”  John asks. I sigh.

“It was blocking my view to the kitchen.” Sherlock says.

John turns to Mycroft. “Well, it’s good to be missed.”

“Well, you were gone. I saw an opportunity.” Sherlock says.

“Yeah, an opportunity to make me sit on the couch all the time.” I say.

“No, you saw the kitchen.” John says.

Mycroft turns to Anderson and hold me close “What have you found so far? Clearly nothing.”

“There’s nothing to find.” Sherlock says.

Mycroft lets go of me and turns toward the hallway behind the kitchen. “Your bedroom door is shut.” Sherlock sighs. Mycroft slowly walks along the hallway. “You haven’t been home all night. So, why would a man who has never knowingly closed the door without the direct orders of his mother bother to do so on this occasion?” Sherlock has raised his head and flipped his hood back while Mycroft progressed. Now Mycroft reaches the door and puts his hand on the door knob. Sherlock hurls himself up into a sitting position.

“Okay, Stop! Just stop.” Sherlock says. Mycroft turns the knob but doesn’t open the door. “Point made.”

“Jesus, Sherlock.” John says.

Mycroft turns and walks slowly back along the hall. “Have to phone our parents, of course, in Oklahoma.” Sherlock looks down and closes his eyes. “Won’t be the first time that your substance abuse has wreaked havoc with their line-dancing.”

Sighing, Sherlock stands up and walks closer to Mycroft. “This is not what you think. This is for a case.”

“What case could possibly justify this?” Mycroft asks.

“Magnussen.” Sherlock says. Mycroft’s slight smile drops. I frown. “Charles Augustus Mafnussen.”

Mycroft draws in a breath and turn to Anderson and his helper. “That name you think you may have just heard – you were mistaken. If you ever mention hearing that name in this room, in this context, I guarantee you – on behalf of the British security services – that materials will be found on your computer hard drives resulting in your immediate incarceration. Don’t reply – just look frightened and scuttle.” Anderson immediately ushers the person out of the kitchen and follows her onto the landing, closing the door behind him. Mycroft turns back to where John is standing beside Sherlock. “I hope I won’t have to threaten you as well.”

“Well, I think we’d both find that embarrassing.” John says. Sherlock snorts laughter, turning his head away.

“Magnussen is not your business.” Mycroft says sternly to Sherlock.

Sherlock turns back to Mycroft and points. “Oh, you mean he’s yours.”

“You may consider him under my protection.” Mycroft says.

“I consider you under his thumb.” Sherlock says. I frown.

“If you go against Magnussen, then you will find yourself going against me.” Mycroft says quietly and ominously.

“Okay. I’ll let you know if I notice.” Sherlock says. I frown more and roll my eyes. He strolls towards the kitchen door. “Er, what was I going to say? Oh, yeah.” He opens the door. “Bye-bye.” He points the way out.

Mycroft walks round him, then turns to face him. “Unwise, brother mine.”

Immediately Sherlock seizes Mycroft’s left arm just below the elbow. Twisting his arm up behind his back, he slams his brother face-first against the wall beside the kitchen door. Mycroft cries out in pain. I gasp and watch. I needed to go over, but I didn’t want to get hurt.  Sherlock breathes rapidly, his voice venomous. “Brother mine, don’t appal me when I’m high.”

John hurries over to Mycroft’s side. He watches Sherlock’s face. “Mycroft, don’t say another word. Just go. He could snap you in two, and right now I am slightly worried that he might.” Mycroft pushes himself free of his brother’s grip and holds his left arm in pain. Sherlock turns and walks away. Mycroft turns towards him. “Don’t speak. Just leave.” Mycroft lowers his right arm. John looks down towards the floor. “Oh.” He bends down and picks up Mycroft’s umbrella which he had dropped. Straightening up again, he offers it to him, clearing his throat. Mycroft snatches it from his hand and leaves.

I look at Sherlock and frown. “You didn’t have to do that Sherlock.” I frown and follow Mycroft. “Mycroft.” I catch up with him. “Is your arm hurt?”

“A little. We should get home.” He says. I nod and we get into the car. 


	40. Chapter 40

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the next part of His Last Vow**

**I own nothing, except Calliah and my ideas.**

Later that day, I get a call from Sherlock. “Get up, get dress, and come to the flat.” He tells me.

“I’m sleeping.” I tell him.

“You have been sleeping the whole day. Time to get back to the case.” Sherlock says.

“Mycroft is mad with you. He’ll be mad if I go.” I say.

“I need my sister.” He says. I sigh and sit up. “Please.”

“Fine. I’ll be there soon.” I tell him and hang up. Mycroft walks into the room.

“Going to follow Sherlock?” He asks.

“Yeah. Are you okay with that?” I ask.

He sigh and sits by me. “I would rather you not go but I know that isn’t you. I know it would kill you to let the boys go off and you be at home, so yes. I am okay with that. But come home safe?”

“Of course love.” I say. “No drugs.”

I kiss him and get up. “If you come home after doing drugs, I will kill Sherlock.”

I get dressed and look at him. “Not addicted.” I grin and walk over. “I’ll be back soon.” I kiss him one more time and leave. I go to the flat and see the boys waiting outside. We get in a taxi. In the taxi, John and Sherlock tell me what happened with Magnussen.

We walks towards the entrance of a skyscraper building which houses CAM Global News. In the foyer, a TV screen is broadcasting the company’s news channel, which is currently showing a Breaking News item reading, “MP JOHN GARVIE ARRESTED ON CHARGES OF CORRUPTION.” A photograph shows the man who spoke at the parliamentary hearing at the beginning of the episode. A newsreader’s voice can be heard. “And breaking news now. John Garvie MP has been arrested today on charges of corruption. This follows an investigation ...” We walk through the revolving doors and approaches the security barriers which need an electronic key card to open them.

“Magnussen’s office is on the top floor, just below his private flat…” Sherlock says. He looks towards lift doors on the next level up. “…but there are fourteen levels of security between us and him… two of which aren’t even legal in this country. Want to know how we’re going to break in?”

“Is that what we’re doing?” John asks.

“Of course it’s what we’re doing.” Sherlock says and turns and walk away.

Later we each have a takeaway cup of coffee and are walking towards an escalator in the building. “Magnussen’s private lift. It goes straight to his penthouse and office. Only he uses it…” Sherlock starts to say. We get onto the escalator. “…and only his key card calls the lift. Anyone else even tries, security is automatically informed.” We get to the top and walk towards the lift. Sherlock holds up a key card. We stop. “Standard key card for the building. Nicked it yesterday. Only gets us as far as the canteen.” We walk to the lift, stops and looks at it. “Here we go, then. If I was to use this card on that lift now, what happens?” He gestures to the lift.

“Er, the alarms would go off and you’d be dragged away by security.” John says.

“Exactly.” Sherlock says.

“Get taken to a small room and somewhere and your head kicked in.” John says. Sherlock looks round at John.

“Do we really need so much colour?” Sherlock asks.

“It passes the time.” John says.

Sherlock gives him a look and passes him his coffee cup. John takes it and returns the look. Ignoring it, Sherlock takes his phone from his coat. “But if I do this…” He presses the security card against his phone. “If you press a key card against your mobile phone for long enough, it corrupts the magnetic strip. The card stops working. It’s a common problem – never put your key card with your phone. What happens if I use the card now?”

“It still doesn’t work.” John says.

“But it doesn’t read as the wrong card now.” Sherlock says. “It registers as corrupted. But if it’s corrupted, how do they know it’s not Magnussen?”

“Huh.” John says.

“Would they risk dragging him off?” Sherlock asks.

“Probably not.” I say.

“So what do they do? What do they have to do?" Sherlock asks.

“Check if it’s him or not.” John says.

“There’s a camera at eye height to the right of the door.” Sherlock explains. “A live picture of the card user is relayed directly to Magnussen’s personal staff in his office – the only person trusted to make a positive ID. At this house, almost certainly his PA.”

“S-So how’s that help us?” John asks.

Sherlock smiles along the corridor, then looks round to us. “Human error.” He winks at me and pats his breast pocket. “I’ve been shopping.” He walks along the corridor to the life, John looks around before we follow him. Sherlock reaches the lift doors and raises his card towards the reader. “Here we go, then.” He presses the card against the reader. A circle on the reader screen, and the words CAM GLOBAL NEWS at the bottom of the screen, both turn from blue to read and there’s a beep.

John and I stand to the side out of view. “You realize you don’t look exactly look like Magnussen.” John asks quietly.

Sherlock looks confidently into the security camera while speaking quietly and barely moving his lips. “Which, in this case, is a considerable advantage.”

“Sherlock, you complete loon! What are you doing?!” Janine asks. I grin and clap my hands. He was using her to get into Magnussen’s office. That is just amazing. Sherlock smiles more widely into the camera. John looks round in surprise.

“Hand on – was that…? That…!” John says. He instinctively starts to step closer but Sherlock holds up the flat of his hand to him to stop and talks into the camera.

“Hi, Janine.” Sherlock says, secretively, and glancing around. “Go on, let me in.”

“I can’t. You know I can’t. Don’t be silly.” Janine says.

“Don’t make me do it out here. Not…” Sherlock says. He pauses and turns his head to glance at a woman walking past, then once she’s gone he turns back to the camera. “…in front of everything.” What was he going to do? This was amazing.

“Do what in front of everyone?” Janine asks.

John smiles and nods politely at another woman as she walks past. Sherlock lowers his eyes and blows out a big breath, then takes out a small dark red box and clicks it open before holding it up to the camera to show the large diamond engagement ring inside it. I start laughing and cover my mouth. I look at Sherlock and start laughing harder. John stares at the ring. Sherlock holds the box in front of his face and turns on his biggest puppy dog eyes over the top of it as he looks into the camera and then smiles. Janine lets out a silent delighted laugh – and the card reader screen turns from red to blue and the lift doors open. Sherlock grins into the camera, then clicks the box closed and turns to John, whose mouth is open as he stares at his friend.

“You see? As long as there’s people, there’s always a weak spot.” Sherlock says and starts to walk into the lift but John stops him.

“That was Janine.” John says.

“Yes, of course it was Janine. She’s Magnussen’s PA. That’s the whole point.” Sherlock says. I move over to him and grins up.

“You were amazing.” I said softly.

“Did you just get engaged to break into an office?” John asks.

“Yeah.” Sherlock says and we step into the lift. “Stroke of luck, meeting her at your wedding. You can take some of the credit.”

“Je-Jesus!” John says. He looks down at the coffee cups he’s still holding, then drops them into a waste bin just before getting in. “Sherlock, she loves you.” John says leaning close to Sherlock and speaks quietly.

“Yes. Like I said – human error.” Sherlock says. I hit his arm softly.

“Not human error. She is just…. Not right for you.” I say.

The lift doors close and the lift begins its ascent. John turns to look at Sherlock. “What are you gonna do?”

“Well, not actually marry her, obviously.” Sherlock says and looks at John. “For one, Calliah would kill me and two, there’s only so far you can go.”

“So what will you tell her?” John asks.

Sherlock faces the front. “Well, I’ll tell her that our entire relationship was a ruse to break into her boss’ office. I imagine she’ll want to stop seeing me at that point ...” He looks at John again. “... but you’re the expert on women.”

The lift stops at floor 32 and the door opens. Sherlock turns on his human smile and walks out, bobbing up and down as he looks around for his new fiancée. I follow and grin. After a moment he stops, looking around more carefully and frowning when there’s no sign of her. We walk into her office but still can’t be seen. “So where did she go?” John asks.

“It’s a bit rude. I just proposed to her.” Sherlock says.

John walks across the room towards the window and stops. “Sherlock…”

Sherlock and I walk over as John bends down to her. “Did she faint? Do they really do that? Did you do that?” He asks me.

“No way. I’m not a prissy.” I say.

John takes his hand from her head and finds blood on his fingers. “It’s a blow to the head.” He bends lower to her. “She’s breathing. Janine?” She moans quietly.

Sherlock looks round the rest of the office. He walks across the office and I follow. “Another in here.” John looks over at us but doesn’t leave Janine. In the next room, we see an unconscious suited man lying face down on the floor. Sherlock does a full-circle turn to look around the rest of the room. “Security.”

“Does he need help?” John asks.

Sherlock walks to the man’s side and looks down at him. “Ex-con. While supremacist, by the tattoo, so who cares?” He points back towards John. “Stick with Janine.”

John hesitates. “Calliah, check him over.”

“He’ll be fine.” I say.

He sighs and turns back to Janine. “Janine, focus on my voice now. Can you hear me?”

Sherlock looks around the room again and then goes to the nearby glass desk. He bends down, holding his hand over the top of it while looking at it closely, then works his way round to the other side, looking carefully at everything. He squats down to the leather chair behind the desk and puts his hand on the seat.

“Hey. They must still be here.” John stage whispers.

Sherlock straightens up. “So’s Magnussen. His seat’s still warm. He should be at dinner but he’s still in the building” Sherlock says in a stage whisper. He looks around and then raises his eyes upwards. “Upstairs!”

“We should call the police.” John says.

“During our own burglary?! You’re not a natural at this, are you?” Sherlock says. John sighs. “No, wait, shh!” Standing at the side of the chair, he closes his eyes, sniffs deeply and holds his hands out to the sides. Sherlock sniffs twice more, the final one a deep long sniff. “Perfume – not Janine’s.” Sherlock waves his hand around beside his head. He waves again, then opens his eyes and upwards triumphantly. “Claire-de-la-lune.” Sherlock says. He turns around, grimacing. “Why do I know it?”

“Mary wears it.” John says.

Sherlock turns back. “No, not Mary. Somebody else.” He lifts his head as he hears a noise from upstairs and his gaze becomes intense.

“Sherlock.” John whispers loudly.

Sherlock grabs my hand and runs across the room to the stairwell and we hurry upwards. Pausing for a moment to look up the stairs before quickly continuing on.

Sherlock and I walk softly along the carpeted hall towards where we can hear Magnussen talking quietly and sounding very anxious and almost tearful. “What-what-what would your husband think, eh?” Magnussen says. Sherlock and I walk carefully towards a partially open door at the end of the hall. “He ... your lovely husband, upright, honourable ...” Sherlock looks through the gap in the door “…so English. What-what would he say to you now? Nej, nej! [No, no!]” Sherlock slowly pushes the door open. I follow him. “You’re-you’re doing this to protect him from the truth ... but is this protection he would want?”

Sherlock slowly walks to stand a few feet behind the person holding the gun, who is also wearing all black, including a black knitted cap on their head, covering their hair. “Additionally, if you’re going to commit murder, you might consider changing your perfume ...” The potential killer raises the gun a little, turning it slightly to the left. “... Lady Smallwood.” I stand by Sherlock’s side.

“Sorry. Who?” Magnussen says in a slightly stronger voice. Sherlock focuses on the back of the assassin. Magnussen’s gaze goes from him to the face of his potential killer as the person adjusts their grip on the pistol. “That’s ... not ... Lady Smallwood, Mr Holmes.”

Sherlock frowns. The person in black turns to face him, aiming the pistol at him, and Sherlock and I look into the face of Mary Elizabeth Watson. I gasp and cover my mouth. “M-Mary….?”

“Is John here?” Mary asks firmly.

“He-he’s downstairs.” Sherlock says. She nods.

“So, what do you do now? Kill all three of us?” Magnussen asks. Keeping her pistol aimed in front of her, Mary smiles humourlessly over her shoulder towards him before turning her gaze back to Sherlock. As Sherlock speaks, Magnussen slowly lowers his hands and begins to reach down towards the floor on his left.

“Mary, whatever he’s got on you, let me help.” Sherlock says. He shifts his weight onto one foot, preparing to step towards her.

“Oh, Sherlock, if you take one more step I swear I will kill you and Calliah.” Mary says in an exasperated voice.

Sherlock says with a small smile on his face. “No, Mrs. Watson.” She stares at him, her mouth opening a little. “You won’t.” He starts to lifts his foot off the floor. Immediately she pulls the trigger. The bullet impacts his lower chest, just above the V of his buttoned jacket and slightly to the right of his shirt buttons. I gaps and she turns the gun on me and shoots me in the shoulder. Magnussen straightens up again. Mary sighs regretfully. I look down at the bullet hole and after a moment blood begins to pour from the hole.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock and Calliah. Truly am.” Mary says a little tearful.

“Mary.” I hear Sherlock say beside me. I start to slump. I start to lean forward but Sherlock pulls me back with him. I close my eyes as I hit the floor.

I open my eyes and see a bright light and I instantly close my eyes. I groan. “Calliah? Ardaigh?” I hear. I open my eyes again and look to the side. “Oh Calliah. My Calliah.” I see Mycroft sitting by my bed. I just stare at him. He stands up and kisses me softly. “I’ll go get the doctor.” He says and rushes off. I lay there and see Mary walk in. She comes over to me.

“You don’t tell him” She says. “Okay? Don’t tell John.” I nod softly. She leaves and Mycroft comes back in with the doctor. The doctor check me over.

“You will be fine. Just need rest.” He tells me and leaves.

Mycroft sits down and takes my hand. “Oh Calliah. Are you okay?” I nod. “You had me worried. I mean they thought you weren’t going to make it. You had lose so much blood.” He rests his head on my hand. “Don’t do that. Ever again.” He says. He looks up at me. “We found something else out.” He says and smiles. I look at him. “You…” Sherlock comes in, interrupting him.

“Calliah. We have to go.” Sherlock says.

Mycroft gets up. “No she needs rest.”

“John needs us.” Sherlock says. He looks at me. “Calliah, you know John needs us. He needs to know.” I nod and start to get up.

Mycroft stops me. “Please Calliah. Don’t go.”

“Croft…” I say softly. “If I don’t go…”

“Sherlock can do it.” He interrupts me.

I look at Sherlock and nod. “I’m not feeling the best. Maybe you should go alone.” I say.

He frowns and glares at Mycroft. “Fine.” He storms out. I frown and curl up.

“He is mad.” I say.

Mycroft plays with my hair. “I know he is, but he will get over it and you do need your rest love. For both of you.”

I freeze and look up at him. “B-Both of us?”

He grins. “You’re pregnant.” He says and takes my hands.

I grin and tear up. “No.”

“Yes Ardaigh.” He says. I sit up and we hug.

“Oh my…” I say as we pull apart. I put a hand on my belly.

“Only a month along but still.” He says. I start crying and grin. “We made a baby…”

“A baby…” I say.

Later that week, I get a text from Sherlock.

_John knows. Come to the flat. Please. SH_

I look up at Mycroft. “I have to go now. Please. The other boys need me. Please can I go? I’ll let you drop me off and pick me up but I have to go.” I explains. He sighs and nods.

We get to the flat. I lean over and kiss him. “I’ll call when we are done.” I say and get out. I run inside and up the stairs.

“Is everyone I’ve ever met a psychopath?” John says as I go up the stairs.

Sherlock was standing at the door. I slip under his arm. “Yes.” I go to John and hug him.

He hugs me back and then I go sit on the couch. Sherlock watches me. I look at him and smile. He looks back at John. “Good that we’ve settled that. Anyway, we…”

John turns to Sherlock. “SHUT UP!” He yells furiously.

Mrs. Hudson jumps at the loudness of his cry and puts one hand to her mouth. “Oh!”

“And stay shut up, because this is not funny.” John says to Sherlock at a more normal volume. “Not this time.”

“I didn’t say it was funny.” Sherlock says.

John turns his head to look at Mary. “You.” He turns to face her. “What have I ever done… hmmm?... my whole life… to deserve you?” He asks, his voice and face full of barely-controlled anger.

Sherlock leans against the right-hand door post. “Everything.”

John turns and faces him. “Sherlock, I’ve told you…” he walks towards him. “…shut up.”

“Oh, I mean it, seriously. Everything – everything you’ve ever done is what you did.” Sherlock says quietly.

“Sherlock, one more word and you will not need morphine.” John says, very softly and dangerously.

“You were a doctor who went to war.” Sherlock says. John’s eyes are fixed on him and he is breathing rapidly and deeply. “You’re a man who couldn’t stay in the suburbs for more than a month without storming a crack den and beating up a junkie. Your best friend is a sociopath who solves crimes as an alternative to getting high.” He pauses for a moment. “That’s me, by the way.” He raises his left hand and waves at him. “Hi.” He points at me. “Your other best friend is a woman who would cut herself to feel no pain.” He says and I smile. I was John’s best friend. Sherlock points at Mrs. Hudson. “Even the landlady used to run a drug cartel.”

“It was my husband’s cartel. I was just typing.” Mrs. Hudson says.

Sherlock looks at her. “And exotic dancing.”

“Sherlock, if you’ve been YouTube-ing…” Mrs. Hudson says.

“John, you are addicted to a certain lifestyle. You’re abnormally attracted to dangerous situations and people ...” Sherlock says, talking louder to talk over Mrs. Hudson. “ ... so is it truly such a surprise that the woman you’ve fallen in love with conforms to that pattern?”His voice becomes quieter again.

John grimaces briefly and then, with his eyes still fixed on Sherlock, he points towards Mary at the other side of the room. “But she wasn’t supposed to be like that.” His voice full of suppressed tears. Mrs. Hudson looks at Mary in shock. Mary lowers her head. “Why is she like that?”

Sherlock looks at me for several seconds and then turns to look directly into John’s eyes. “Because you chose her.”

John stares at him, his face unreadable. Sherlock holds his gaze. Finally John turns away, speaking conversationally. “Why is everything ...” He walks towards the dining table, holding up a questioning hand and shrugging. “... always ...” His voice raises to a loud shout. “... MY FAULT?!” He furiously kicks the small table beside Sherlock’s chair across the floor. Mrs. Hudson jumps and flails. Even Sherlock and I jump a little, but Mary remains still.

“Oh, the neighbours!” Mrs. Hudson says. She hurries away.

John turns to face Mary again, breathing heavily. “John, listen. Be calm and answer me.” He says slowly, precisely. “What is she?”

John gaze is fixed on Mary, though he blinks repeatedly. “My lying wife?”

“No. What is she?” Sherlock asks,

“And the woman who’s carrying my child who has lied to me since the day I met her?” John says. I place my hand on my belly. Mary gazes back at him.

“No. Not in this flat; not in this room. Right here, right now, what is she?” Sherlock asks.

John has a small fixed humourless smile on his face as his eyes remain locked on his wife. His head is low on his neck and he looks murderous. After a long moment he sniffs deeply and harshly. “Okay.” He turns briefly towards Sherlock and then back to Mary. “Your way.” He looks at Mary for another second, then half-turns to Sherlock. “Always your way.” Sherlock lowers his head and looks away. John turns, clearing his throat, then picks up one of the dining chairs and puts it down facing the two armchairs and the fireplace. He looks at Mary. “Sit.”

“Why?” Mary asks.

John leans towards her while pointing down to the dining chair. “Because that’s where they sit.” John says in a tight, angry whisper. He straightens up, still speaking in the same tight voice but a little louder. “... the people who come in here with their stories. Th-the clients – that’s all you are now, Mary. You’re a client. This is where you sit and talk ...” He gestures towards the armchairs. “... and this is where we sit and listen, then we decide if we want you or not.”

Sniffing, he walks over to his chair and sits down, clearing his throat and adjusting the cushion behind his back. After a moment, Sherlock walks forward and crosses the room. Pausing briefly in front of Mary to meet her eyes and give her a tiny nod, he turns and sits down in his own chair. He motions me to come over to him. I get up and go over and sit on the arm of the chair, with my feet in his lap. He wasn’t looking so hot. He needed to go back to the Hospital. His injuries were worst then mine and I was still in pain. Mary watches him as he sits, then looks across to John, who has slumped back into his chair and is not meeting her eyes, then she slowly walks in between them and turns round to sit down on the dining chair, putting her shoulder bag onto the floor beside her. She adjusts her coat around her, dusts off the tops of her legs, tugs the lower part of her trousers down a little on both legs, and then turns her head to John as he looks back at her. Mary puts what looks like the same pen drive onto the table at the side of John’s chair, then withdraws her hand. Sherlock, his face in a grimace as if he is in pain.

“‘A.G.R.A.’ What’s that?” Sherlock asks.

Mary looks from him to John and clears her throat. “Er ... my initials.” John grimaces and looks away. Sherlock looks down, then glances towards him. “Everything about who I was is on there.” She directs to John. “If you love me, don’t read it in front of me.”

“Why?” John asks.

Mary was apparently trying to hold back tears. “Because you won’t love me when you’ve finished ...” John holds her gaze. “... and I don’t want to see that happen.” She looks down. With a loud sigh John snatches the drive from the table, looks briefly across to Sherlock and then shoves the drive into his left trouser pocket. Sniffing, he pulls himself into a higher sitting position on his chair. Mary looks across to Sherlock. “How much d’you know already?”

“By your skill set, you are – or were – an intelligence agent. Your accent is currently English but I suspect you are not. You’re on the run from something; you’ve used your skills to disappear; ...” Sherlock says. John shakes his head as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “... Magnussen knows your secret, which is why you were going to kill him; and I assume you befriended Janine ...” He grimaces, shifting uncomfortably on his chair. He was in deep pain now. We needed to get this over soon. “.. in order to get close to him.”

“Oh – you can talk!” Mary says. Sherlock smiles at her.

“Ohhh. Look at you two.” John says. Not raising his hands from the arms of his chair, he points his index fingers at each of them. “You should have got married.” Mary turns to look at him, and Sherlock blinks a couple of times.

“The stuff Magnussen has on me, I would go to prison for the rest of my life.” Mary says.

“So you were just gonna kill him.” John says.

“People like Magnussen should be killed. That’s why there are people like me.” Mary says.

John lifts his left hand and gently punching the arm of the chair. “Perfect. So that’s what you were? An assassin?” He looks towards Sherlock. “How could I not see that?” He turns back towards Mary.

“You did see that.” Mary says. John’s humourless and slightly murderous smile is back on his face. “…and you married me.” She pauses again, then tilts her head towards Sherlock. “Because he’s right.” Sherlock looks down a little, unusually not looking pleased about being correct. I place a hand on his shoulder. “It’s what you like.”

John looks back at her stony-faced. She holds his gaze for a moment, then lowers her eyes. “So ... Mary ...” He grimaces again. “... any documents that Magnussen has concerning yourself, you want ...” He grimaces yet again, his voice tight as if with physical pain. I frown and look at John to see if he was noticing. It didn’t look like it. I rub Sherlock’s shoulder, wishing I could do something. He places a hand on my hand. “... extracted and returned.”

“Why would you help me?”

“Because ... you saved Calliah’s and my life.” Sherlock says.

“Sor-sorry, what?” John aks.

“When I happened on you and Magnussen ...” Sherlock says, looking at Mary. He takes a couple of noisy, strained breaths, bracing his hand on the arm of his chair. “... you had a problem. More specifically, you had a witnesses. The solution, of course, was simple. Kill all three of us and leave. However, sentiment got the better of you. Two precisely-calculated shots to incapacitate Calliah and me in the hope that it would bide you more time to negotiate our silence. Of course, you couldn’t shoot Magnussen.” He looks towards John. “On the night that both of us broke into the building, your own husband would become a suspect, so ...” He was now taking a painful breath every few words. “... you calculated ... that Magnussen ... would use the fact of your involvement rather than sharing the information with the police ... as is his M.O. and then you left the way you came.” Mary’s gaze is lowered but now she raises it to him. John is looking towards him with a grim expression on his face, then turns his eyes towards his wife.   
“Have I missed anything?”

“How did she save Calliah’s and your life?” John asks.

“She phoned the ambulance.” I say.

“I phoned the ambulance.” John says.

“She phoned first.” Sherlock explains. Approaching sirens can be heard. Sherlock looks at John. “You didn’t find us for another five minutes. Left to you, we would have died. The average arrival time for a London ambulance is ...” He lifts his left hand and looks at his watch as the clatter of feet can be heard on the stairs. Two paramedics run into the room.

“Did somebody call an ambulance?” The paramedic asks. John stands up, looking at them in confusion.

“... eight minutes.” Sherlock finishes. Breathing heavily and with his left hand still raised in front of him, he looks towards the paramedics. I get up so he can get help. “Did you bring any morphine? I asked on the phone.”

The paramedic looks puzzled. “We were told there was a shooting.”

“There was, last week ...” Sherlock says. He is now holding his left wrist with his right hand, his fingers on his pulse point. He takes a sharp breath. “... but I believe I’m bleeding internally and my pulse is very erratic.” He puts his hands on the arms of the chair and starts to push himself upwards. “You may need to re-start my heart on the way.” His voice jolts on the word ‘heart’ and his knees buckle. I help him get into his chair. John and Mary hurry forward and each of them takes hold of an upper arm to support him. I back up. The paramedics run towards them.

“Come on, Sherlock. Come on, Sherlock.” John says. Sherlock groans and grabs at him, clinging to his shoulder. Mary steps back out of the way of the paramedics and comes by me.

“John?” Sherlock asks. The paramedics put their bags down on the floor near him and take hold of him, supporting his weight, but he ignores them and stares intensely at his friend. “John – Magnussen is all that matters now. You can trust Mary. She saved Calliah’s and my life.”

“She shot you.” John says quietly.

Sherlock pulls a face, half-nodding his agreement. “Er, mixed messages, I grant you.” He grimaces, crying out in pain, and starts to fall.

John and the paramedics start to lower him to the floor. “Sherlock? Sherlock.” John turns to the paramedics. “All right, take him.” Sherlock cries out again. John releases him, watching the paramedics. “Got him?” They lay Sherlock down as he groans and whimpers. John straightens and looks down in concern as one of the paramedics gets out an oxygen mask. While they continue working, John looks across to Mary, breathing heavily and with his teeth slightly bared.

It was Christmas and Mycroft, Sherlock, John, and Mary were at Mummy and Daddy Holmes home. I was four months pregnant and had a slight baby bump. I was sitting on Mycroft’s lap and he was complaining. “Oh, dear God, it’s only two o’clock. It’s been Christmas Day for at least a week now.”  He was wearing a shirt and tie and a sleeveless waistcoat and we were sitting at the side of a large table in the middle of the kitchen rubbing one hand wearily over his brow. Christmas lights – wrapped around green foliage – are strung along the bottom of the window we are looking through and another set of lights is wrapped over the curtain rail above a window on the opposite side of the kitchen. The latter lights then progress to where they drape over the top of a picture on the wall beside the window and then dangle down haphazardly towards the floor. On the kitchen table is some crockery, including a large plate with red paper serviettes and some cutlery on it, another plate with mince pies on it, a small iced and decorated Christmas cake, and various other items. Mummy was dropping some more Christmas crackers onto a pile of them lying in a wicker basket on the table. Sherlock, wearing his usual dark suit and a very dark green shirt, is sitting in an armchair near the table. “How can it only be two o’clock? I’m in agony.” I hit his arm and roll my eyes. He looks at me and I giggle.

“Shut up.” I say and kiss him softly.

Sherlock was looking at the front page of ‘The Guardian’. “Mikey, is this your laptop?” Mummy Holmes asks. I giggle at the name. She points down to a silver-grey laptop on the table, half-obscured by a chopping board on top of it which has several whole peeled potatoes and the peelings on it.

“On which depends the security of the free world, yes…” Mycroft says and smiles rather sarcastically up at her. “…and you’ve got potatoes on it.”

“Well, you shouldn’t leave it lying around if it’s so important.” I say. Mummy Holmes smiles at me and reaches to pick up the basket of crackers and puts it down again when Mycroft speaks while gesturing around the kitchen.

“Why are we doing this? We never do this?” He asks.

Mummy Holmes looks a little exasperated and leans on the table. “We are here because Sherlock is home from hospital and we are all very happy.”

Mycroft looks up at her with an extremely insincere smile. “Am I happy too? I haven’t checked.” I hit his arm again.

Mummy Holmes picks up the basket. “We are happy about Calliah being pregnant too, so behave, Mike.”

“’Mycroft’ is the name you gave me, if you could possibly struggle all the way to the end.” Mycroft says. I hit him again and he just looks at me. I glare playfully at him.

Bill Wiggins walks over and holds out a glass of punch with pieces of fruit floating in it. “Mrs. Holmes?”

She looks round and takes the glass from him. “Oh! Thank you, dear.” Mummy Holmes looks up at him. “Not absolutely sure why you’re here.” She drinks from the glass. Bill walks over and hands me a glass. I smile and take it and drink from it.

“I invited him.” Sherlock says.

“I’m his protégé, Mrs. ‘olmes. When ‘e dies, I get all his stuff, and ‘is job.” Bill says.

Mummy Holmes looks at him, a little startled. “No.” Sherlock says precisely, still reading the paper.

“Oh. Well, I help out a bit.” Bill corrects himself.

“Closer.” Sherlock says.

Mycroft, Mummy Holmes, and I look up at Bill. “If ‘e does get murdered or something…” Bill says. We three look appalled.

“Probably stop talking now.” Sherlock says.

“Okay.” Bill says.

“Lovely when you bring your friends round.” Mycroft says sarcastically.

Mummy Holmes puts her glass down. “Stop it, you. Somebody’s put a bullet in my boy…” She walks towards Sherlock with the basket of crackers but then turns back to look at Mycroft. “... and if I ever find out who, I shall turn absolutely monstrous.” She apparently sees something on a nearby work surface. “Ah. This was for Mary. “She walks away with whatever it is. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Sherlock, who had folded his hands in front of his mouth, now lowers his left hand and looks at his watch. Sherlock gets up and leaves. Bill also leaves.

Mycroft looks up at me. “I need a smoke.”

“No.” I say.

“Please.” He says softly.

I sigh and get up. “Fine. One. Let’s go.” He gets up and we go outside and see Sherlock. We walk to him and Mycroft lights up. I stand in front of them and cross my arms. “I don’t like you two smoking.”

Mycroft rolls his eyes. “I’m glad you’ve given up on the Magnussen business.”

“Are you?” Sherlock asks.

“I’m still curious, though. He’s hardly your usual kind of puzzle. Why do you ... hate him?” Mycroft asks.

“Because he attacks people who are different and preys on their secrets. Why don’t you?” Sherlock explains.

“He never causes too much damage to anyone important. He’s far too intelligent for that. He’s a business-man, that’s all, and occasionally useful to us. A necessary evil – not a dragon for you to slay.” Mycroft says. He takes a drag on his cigarette while Sherlock smiles

“A dragon slayer. Is that what you think of me?” Sherlock asks. He turns as he pulls on his own cigarette.

“No.” Mycroft says and smiles. He looks at Sherlock. “It’s what you think of yourself.”

The cottage door opens behind them and Mummy Holmes comes out onto the step. “Are you two smoking?”

The boys rapidly spin round to face her, frantically holding their cigarettes behind their backs as they look guiltily at her. I giggle and smile at Mummy Holmes.

“No!” Mycroft says.

Sherlock says, almost simultaneously. “It was Mycroft.” I roll my eyes.

She gives them a suspicious look, then goes back inside and shuts the door. Sherlock blows out a long plume of smoke in the direction of the door. Mycroft wanders a few paces towards the door, then slowly turns back again as he speaks. “I have, by the way, a job offer I should like you to decline.”

“I decline your kind offer.” Sherlock says.

“I shall pass on your regrets.” Mycroft says.

“What was it?” Sherlock asks.

“MI6 – they want to place you back into Eastern Europe. An undercover assignment that would prove fatal to you in, I think, about six months.” Mycroft explains.

Sherlock, who had started to raise his cigarette to his lips, lowers it again and looks a little surprised. “Then why don’t you want me to take it?”

“It’s tempting ... but on balance you have more utility closer to home.” Mycroft says.

“Utility. How do I have utility?” Sherlock asks He takes a drag on his cigarette.

Mycroft shrugs slightly. “’Here be dragons’.” He takes a pull on his own cigarette, then holds it up to look at, frowning. He coughs. “This isn’t agreeing with me. I’m going in. Come on Calliah.” He drops the cigarette on the path and treads it out, then waits for me to come, then we turn and walk up the path.

“You need low tar. You still smoke like a beginner.” Sherlock says.

Mycroft slows down and stops before we reach the door. He pauses for a moment before speaking. “Also, your loss would break my heart. And Calliah’s”

Sherlock had just started to take a drag on his cigarette and now he chokes and coughs. “What the hell am I supposed to say to that?!”

Mycroft and I turn round and Mycroft holds out his arm a little. “”Merry Christmas’?”

“You hate Christmas.” Sherlock says.

Mycroft pretends to look puzzled. “Yes.” He smiles a little. “Perhaps there was something in the punch.”

“Clearly. Go and have some more.” Sherlock says.

Mycroft turns and goes up the steps, opening the door. I grin at him and he smiles at me. I follow Mycroft. We go to the kitchen were Mummy Holmes was sitting in the arm chair where Sherlock was sitting earlier. Mycroft sits back into his chair and I sit on his lap. Mycroft and I put a hand on my belly. We loved touching it. It was weird at first but I got used to it. I loved being pregnant. “Oh Calliah. I am so happy to hear that you were pregnant. Our first grandbaby. I was worried that I wasn’t going to get any.” Mummy Holmes says.

I giggle. “Oh Mummy. With me around, you will have a lot of grandbabies.” I say and start to feel my eyes close. I frown and see that Mummy Holmes has passed out. I look at Mycroft as I pass out. My head moving to Mycroft’s shoulder.


	41. Chapter 41

**Thank you Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on livejournal for the transcripts. They help so much.**

**Here is the last part of His Last Vow**

**I own nothing, except Calliah and my ideas.**

I wake up later and see Bill. “Oh good. You’re up.”

I look around and see Mycroft still out and so was Mummy Holmes. “W-What happened?”

“You ‘ad to sleep.” Bill says.

“Where is Sherlock and John?” I ask.

“Away.” Bill said.

I frown and start shaking Mycroft. He groans. “Mycroft. Wake up. Sherlock and John are gone!” He slowly wakes up. “Mycroft!”

“What?” He groans.

“Sherlock and John are gone. I think they drugged us.” I say.

Mycroft looks around. “My computer is gone.”

We look at each other. “Magnussen.” We say at the same time. We get up and I get my coat on. Mycroft calls someone. After a couple minutes, a helicopter lands in the yard.

“Stay here.” Mycroft tells me.

“No. Those two are family. I can’t stay and I won’t let you make me stay.” I say and start going to the helicopter. I go to get in and feel a hand on my back. I look back and see Mycroft. I smile and get in. He follows me in and we get buckled. The helicopter flies off and I bounce my leg. What was Sherlock doing? Why didn’t he bring me? What was going to happen? I feel a hand on my leg and look up.

“Calm down love. It will be okay. We will get them out and I will handle it.” Mycroft tells me. I nod and place a hand on my belly. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m just worried.” I say.

“I know. We will be there soon.” He tells me. I nod and look out my window. Mycroft keeps his hand on my knee.

We soon get to Magnussen’s and I see Sherlock, Magnussen, and John standing on the patio. Armed police marksmen run towards the patio. We shine the spotlight towards the patio. Mycroft grabs the headset with the microphone. “Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Stand away from that man.” I see Sherlock look away and Magnussen look over towards Sherlock. I see Magnussen say something. Sherlock steps forwards and walks over to John’s side.

“What is he doing?” I ask. Magnussen says something to Sherlock and then looks towards us.

“Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Step away.” Mycroft says again over the speaker.

Magnussen walks forward a couple of steps, waving his hands calmly. “It’s fine! They’re harmless!”

The armed police continue moving into position, aiming their rifles towards the patio. I frown and grip onto Mycroft’s arm. “Target is not armed. I repeat, target is not armed.” I hear over the radio. John looks at Sherlock and says something. He turns to look at us again.

Magnussen calls over his shoulder and then looks round at them. Sherlock turns and looks at John. Sherlock looks away from John, lowing his gaze. Magnussen turns away from him.

“Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, stand away from that man. Do it now.” Mycroft says over the speakers.

Sherlock looks up and says something. He steps closer to John, reaches round behind him, then steps away again and walks forward towards Magnussen. Sherlock says something and Magnussen turns to look at him. Sherlock says some more things and then he raises John’s pistol, aims it at Magnussen’s head and fires. As John recoils and even before Magnussen hits the ground, Sherlock drops the gun to the patio and turns towards the helicopter, raising his hands. My eyes widen and I grip Mycroft’s arm harder. “Sherlock….”

“Man down, man down.” The police officer says over the radio.

Sherlock says something to John and turns to look at him. John raises his hands.

“Stand fire!” Mycroft says frantically into the microphone. The police marksmen run towards the patio, aiming their rifles at Sherlock as he faces them. “Do not fire on Sherlock Holmes! Do not fire!”

The marksmen take up positions, aiming their laser sights towards Sherlock. Sherlock looks round to John again. John stares at him. Sherlock takes a look at John and then turns towards the marksmen and the helicopter and begins to sink slowly to his knees. John holds his own hands high, his eyes full of despair. Sherlock kneels on the patio, his hands raised and his face anguished. The beams from the laser sights travel over his face as he stares ahead of himself.

Mycroft takes off his headset and stares in despair towards Sherlock. “Oh, Sherlock. What have you done?” He looks towards me as I start crying. He pulls me over to him and I cry into his chest.

It was the next day. Mycroft and I were in a meeting. Mycroft didn’t want me out of his sight so I was sitting in the back of the room. Mycroft was standing at the glass wall. He has his back to the room and is looking outside. There is a suited man standing nearby to his right. “As my colleague is fond of remarking, this country sometimes needs a blunt instrument. Equally, it sometimes needs a dagger – a scalpel wielded with precision and without remorse.” He looks to his left. “There will always come a time when we need Sherlock Holmes.”

Several of the men sitting at the tables in the room look back at him silently. The man standing near him speaks. “If this is some expression of familial sentiment…”

Mycroft sighs and turns to him. “Don’t be absurd. I am not given to outbursts of brotherly compassion.” The man looks away, grimacing slightly. Mycroft turns to look out the window again. “In any event, there is no prison in which we could incarcerate Sherlock without causing a riot on a daily basis. The alternative, however…” He looks left towards where Lady Smallwood is sitting at a table. “…would require your approval.”

“Hardly merciful, Mr. Holmes.” Lady Smallwood says.

“Regrettably, Lady Smallwood, my brother is a murderer.” Mycroft says and turns away and looks out of the window again.

A couple days later, Mycroft, Sherlock, and I were at an airfield. We were waiting for John and Mary to show up. I was hugging Sherlock and crying. He had his arms around me. A black car drives along the runway towards us. Mary gets out of the rear door nearest us and John from the other. Smiling, Mary walks towards us, John following behind.

“You will look after him for me, won’t you? Both of you?” Sherlock asks Mary and me.

“Oh…” Mary says and puts a hand on his shoulders. I move back. They kiss each other’s cheek and then hug. “…don’t worry. We’ll keep him in trouble.” He smiles as she releases him and pulls back.

“That’s my girls.” Sherlock says.

She turns and walks back to where John has stopped a few paces away. I hug Sherlock again. John nods to us in greeting and Sherlock turns to Mycroft. “Since this is likely to be the last conversation I’ll have with John and Calliah…” John sighs painfully. “…would you mind if we took a moment?” Mycroft looks a little startled, but then glances over to the security man, who was standing by us, and jerks his head towards the side of the plane. The security man, Mycroft and Mary walk along the side of the jet towards the wing and Sherlock turns to John, who smiles at us and nods.

“So, here we are.” John says. He looks vaguely around at the airfield and clears his throat. He steps closer.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes.” Sherlock says to us.

“Sorry?” John asks.

“That’s the whole of it – if you’re looking for baby names.” He tells us.

I start laughing while crying. John chuckles. “No, we’ve had a scan. We’re pretty sure it’s a girl.”

“Oh.” Sherlock says and smiles. “Okay. Calliah, you can use it.”

“O-Okay.” I say and try to stop crying.

John turns and looks across the airfield. “Yeah.” He finally turn towards us again. “Actually, I can’t think of a single thing to say.”

Sherlock looks down at me. “No, neither can I.” He lifts his head as John steps closer.

“The game is over.” John says quietly.

Sherlock meets John’s eyes. “The game is never over, John.” He says firmly. “But there may be some new players now. It’s okay. The East Wing takes us all in the end” He says softly.

I start crying harder and Sherlock places a kiss on my head. “What’s that?” John asks.

“It’s a story my brother told me when we were kids. The East Wind – this terrifying force that lays waste to all in its path.” Sherlock says. He sniffs, looking into the distance. “It seeks out the unworthy ...” He meets John’s eyes. “... and plucks them from the Earth. That was generally me.”

I frown and hug him. “Nice.” John says sarcastically.

“He was a rubbish big brother but he will be a great dad.” He says and kisses my head again. We all smile, then John looks down, clearing his throat.

“So what about you, then?” John asks. He lifts his head. “Where are you actually going now?”

“Oh, some undercover work in Eastern Europe.” Sherlock says, sounding bored.

“For how long?” John asks.

“Six months, my brother estimates. He’s never wrong.” Sherlock says.

“And then what?” John asks.

I start crying more. Sherlock meets John’s gaze and then turns away to look across the airfield again, breathing in deeply. Sherlock looks directly at him until he turns back, then looks down again. “John, there’s something ... I should say; I-I’ve meant to say always and then never have. Since it’s unlikely we’ll ever meet again, I might as well say it now.” He hesitates for a long time, then draws in a deep breath and raises his eyes to John’s. “Sherlock is actually a girl’s name.” I start laughing softly.

John turns away, giggling almost silently. Sherlock smiles at him. John turns back, still smiling. “It’s not.”

Sherlock shrugs. “It was worth a try.”

“We’re not naming our daughter after you.” John says.

“I might if I have a girl.” I say.

Sherlock smiles at me and kisses my head. He looks back at John. “I think it could work.” John chuckles, then meets his eyes. Sherlock holds his gaze for a second, then lowers his eyes. After a moment he takes off his right glove and holds out his hand. “To the very best of times, John.” John hesitates for a long while, then he finally takes Sherlock’s hand and shakes it. They stand there for a couple of seconds, then Sherlock gives John’s hand one more small pump before releasing it. Sherlock moves me away and looks at me. I look up at him.

“Sherlock…” I say softly. “You are the best brother ever. I love you. I… I’m going to tell baby Holmes about you so much.” He smiles softly and hugs me again, tightly. “I’m going to miss you so much.” I say softly.

“I’ll miss you too flower.” He says. He kisses my head one more time and turns away, putting his glove back on as he walks away. I go to John and he wraps his arms around me as we watch him walk along the side of the plane to the steps and get on board.

Shortly afterward the plane taxies along the runway. Sherlock sits inside looking out of one of the right-hand windows. Mary and John stand by the car, holding hands and watching from the left-hand side of the plane as it lifts into the sky. I go by Mycroft and he holds me.

Mycroft gets a phone call and his eyes widen. He looks at me. “But that’s not possible. That is simply not possible.” He looks at John and Mary. He frowns at them.

John releases Mary’s hand and walks towards us. “What’s happened?”

Mycroft moves us into the car and on the small TV is Jim Moriarty. He was facing the camera and smiling. To the left of his mouth was the message:

_Miss me?_

Mycroft calls Sherlock. “Hello, little brother. How is the exile going?” Mycroft asks. He smiles. “Well, I certainly hope you’ve learned your lesson. As it turns out, you’re needed.”

The TV starts saying “Did you miss me? Did you miss me?” in a high pitched voice. I frown and move into Mycroft’s arms. “England.”

Mary looks at John. “But he’s dead. I mean, you told me he was dead, Moriarty.” Mary said.

“Absolutely. He blew his own brains out.” John says.

“So how can he be back?” Mary asks.

John turns and looks to his right. “Well, if he is… he’d better wrap up warm.” Mary turns to follow his gaze. “There’s an East Wind coming.” We look out the window to see Sherlock’s plane come in to land.


	42. Update

Okay all.   
I'm going to make a new story to continue this. So I it will be called Cuts (the continuation). It will be what I think will be happening in season 4 and the special. Once the special and season 4 come back on, I will continue this story.

I have started my continuation of Cuts. Here is the link.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/3195233

I have the first two chapters up 

I hope you all read it and love it as much as you did cuts, or even more!


	43. Oneshots!

Hey all! 

I know I said I was going to re-write my story but after reading an amazing! Mycroft story of Archive of Our Own ( http://archiveofourown.org/works/3423845 if anyone wants to read it. It’s called Miscommunications and Umbrellas. Amazing work) I am going to be taking requests of oneshots that you all want to see. They will be oneshots in my Cut series of anything you guys want to see. 

So comment any requests you want to see. It can be anything! 

\- Want to see Calliah interact with someone. It can be anyone (Mary, Molly, Lestrade… etc)   
\- Any scenes you want me to go into more details about  
\- Things about Mycroft, Calliah, or Sherlock’s past  
\- Moments before Mycroft and Calliah dated  
\- Moments during the time Mycroft saved Calliah  
\- Angst?   
\- Fluff?   
\- Anything!

I will literally write anything you guys want. This includes AUs. I love AUs! 

So Comment or Message me any requests you have and I will get to work! 

Bye Babes


	44. REDO UP

Hey all. I just posted the first chapter to my redo. It is called Healing a Fragile Heart and I hope it will be better.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like it.  
> Comment and like please :)


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